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LIBRARY OF. CONGRESS. 

ChapL^i^ Copyright No. _ 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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NOV 30 1898 




NOV SO 1898 



In the San Juan 



Colorado 



SKETCHES 



REV. J. J. GIBBONS 



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Copyright, 1S9S 



REV. J. J. GIBBONS 




f^o** V 



CONTENTS 



FIRST SKETCH 



Page 



First Experiences in the San Juan— Land of 
mountains and plains — Home of the Cliff-Dwell- 
ers — Mummy apostrophized — Trip to Telluride 
— Young Canadian falls over a precipice — A 
flourishing mining camp — Silverton in Christ- 
mas attire — The "Gloria in Excelsis" — The 
sacred strains in the midnight air — Perilous 
night ride. - 7-25 

SECOND SKETCH 

Funeral in the Rockies— A daring and expert 
horseman— The cowboy and the wild broncho — 
Sensational drilling contest — Chattanooga's two 
inhabitants — Sunset on Ophir's range — Disaster 
befalls a tenderfoot — Skeleton recalls a tragedy 
— "Marry in haste, and repent at leisure" — 
Mountains echo the "Requiescant in pace" — 
A sudden storm. - 26-38 



THIRD SKETCH 

From Dallas to Telluride— A genial stage- 
driver — A hero of the Crimea — Fatal accident 
at the Sheridan — A picturesque canon — Dread- 
ful catastrophes — Train of burros — Sequel of 
right line movement — Religious services at Tel- 
luride — Summoned in haste to a deathbed. 39-55 



FOURTH SKETCH 

A Social and Religious Center— Hospitable 
family on the Divide — Pastoral scene — Excur- 
sion party in the interests of science and re- 
ligion — A few shots from a rifle bring relief in 



CONTENTS 



Page 



a dilemma — Medicine administered at the point 
of a gun — Sick call to Turkey Creek — An in- 
valid and his queer nurse — Curiosity punished 
— Navajo Indian — Trout L,ake, a romantic spot 
— Fifty-five miles in the saddle. - - 56-71 

FIFTH SKETCH 

Celebration of a Festival — An unhappy mar- 
riage — Bear Creek Falls festooned with snow — 
The Mother Cline snowslide — Ironton's unique 
character — Hairbreadth escape in a storm — 
Racy ballad, "Patrick's Day in the Morning" — 
Sick-bed conversions — The hospital, from a mis- 
sionary standpoint. - 72-83 

SIXTH SKETCH 

Thrilling Incidents of a Hunting Trip— 
Superior qualities of the broncho — Breakneck 
race down cork screw trail — The deer that never 
came — The Cascade of Ouray — Mountain scen- 
ery at its best — The bear and the prospectors — 
"The burnt child dreads the fire" — The moun- 
tain lion — The Snowslide in verse — Perplexing 
situation — The welcome stream — Home again. 84-103 

SEVENTH SKETCH 

A Devoted Mother in Adversity — A captain 
meets reverses of fortune — Sad deathbed scene — 
Manual and Industrial training of the young — 
Education in the right line — Solemn religious 
service at early morn — By the Hermosa — A 
red-haired stranger — A "friend in need is a 
friend indeed" — Strange chorus in a storm — 
Verses on the burro, "He's a bird — a true 
canary." 104-119 

EIGHTH SKETCH 

The Blasphemer's Fate — Some of Ouray's 
sociable characters — Life above timber line — 
Appalling misfortune — Prince, the beautiful set- 
ter — Faithful friends lost in an avalanche — 
4 



CONTENTS 

Page 
Edifying death of a miner — Told in verses by a 

local poet. 120-137 

"Only the Actions of the Just, 

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." 

NINTH SKETCH 

Baneful Effects of Intemperance— John, 
the soldier — Spending a fortune — ' 'Nothing 
heavenly in the miser" — A promising career 
ruined by drink — Reflections upon the evils of in- 
temperance — Triumph of grace — Reconciliation 
—"All's well that ends well." - - 138-153 



TENTH SKETCH 

Ten Days on a Sick Call— Old Gray, the horse 
with one ear — On a hogback — Dolores and the 
early missionaries — Attending a sick man under 
difficulties — A tidy bachelor's hall — Dies on his 
way to the lowlands — How funeral expenses 
were defrayed — A mail carrier, faithful in death 
— Ingenious use made of an ulster. - 154-166 

ELEVENTH SKETCH 

Virtue, the only Nobility — The boys of Done- 
gal — Pleasant companions on a stagecoach — 
Rico's second boom — Telluride's bank robbery 
— Sheriff's posse in pursuit of robbers — Baptism 
at the Springs — Weird scene at early dawn — 
Death's lesson. .... 167-182 



TWELFTH SKETCH 

Colorado among the States — Her people and 
her resources — San Juan's future — A great city 
of the southwest — "Fountain of Perpetual 
Youth" — Las Animas canon — Sublime scenery 
— How a mine is worked — A miner's mode of 
living — His intelligence — A land "where the 
peach and apple grow" — Ouray, the Pic- 
turesque. . 183-194 
5 



PRESS OF 

Calumet Book & Engraving Co. 

168 S. Clinton Street. 

CHICAGO. 



FIRST SKETCH 

IN August, 1888, I received my appointment 
to the parish of Ouray, which included pretty 
nearly the whole of the San Juan country, 
the scene of these sketches. San Juan is the 
familiar designation of southwestern Colorado. 
Bounded on the north by rugged ranges, on the 
south by New Mexico, on the east by the Gun- 
nison district and on the west by Utah's Blue 
mountains; it is a mountainous country, diver- 
sified by rolling uplands, smiling valleys, darkling 
glens and rushing streams. 

When, as a traveler from the east and on 
my way to Colorado to enter upon my duties as 
a priest of the diocese of Denver, the Rocky 
mountains burst on my vision, Pike's Peak ap- 
peared like a sentinel at the gateway of a new 
world. For the flat plains which mark a 
thousand miles' travel from the Missouri, I beheld 
scenes of inspiring grandeur. My fancy pictured 
the condition of a society where cities and towns 
lie in the clouds, and people live in the presence of 
perpetual snow and cutting frosts that penetrate 
the earth to a depth of six or seven feet. I had 
read of mines, sunk thousands of feet into the 
bowels of the earth, and of railroads overhang- 
ing dizzy abysses. I had not been long in this 
wonderland, however, when I got some inkling 
of the kind of life men live at this great altitude, 
for I experienced the pleasures of a renewed 
vitality and the clearness of a quickened brain. 
"Land of illusions and magnificent distances," 
cries the newcomer — where the atmosphere is 
so rare that to visit before breakfast the foot- 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

hills, twenty miles from Denver, seems nothing 
extraordinary, and where, upon mountain loops, 
the railroad passenger of the rear car may well be 
tempted to light his cigar at the headlight of the 
locomotive. 

From the time of my arrival in Colorado, I 
was engaged in pastoral work at Georgetown 
and Leadville, until I was sent to my southwest- 
ern mission. It was an extensive one, covering a 
territory perhaps as large as the whole of Ire- 
land. It was not uncommon to be summoned 
day or night to sick calls, involving trips of 
150 miles. 

The aboriginal inhabitants of this country, 
the Cliff- Dwellers, belong to a race of men who 
built houses of solid masonry, or chiseled caves 
in cliffs, that seemed unapproachable. When 
Coronado, 350 years ago, explored New Mexico 
and the great region which contained my new 
charge, he discovered towns with populations 
varying from 10,000 to 40,000. The people 
tilled the soil, built adobe houses as well as 
more pretentious structures of cut stone, raised 
cotton and made their own clothes; they owned 
large herds of cattle, and the rich valleys bore 
maize and vegetables of many kinds. Being 
virtuous, they were happy, they kept the natural 
law and paid religious homage to the sun from 
their round towers at early dawn. To those 
simple children of nature, the orb of day, 
which is the light-giver and the heat-bringer, 
was the chief object of adoration, and in their 
bountiful harvests they recognized his secondary 
action under Providence. The}* were, to be sure, 
ignorant of the true God; but their idolatry was 
pure and intellectual, compared with the gross 




The; Cuff-Dwfi^frs 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

worship of nations that adored crocodiles, leeks 
and onions. Like the Persians they were fire- 
worshipers, and therefore elevated in their 
aspirations. Were they of Celtic origin ? Perhaps 
they were; I do not think the most rabid ad- 
vocate of an alliance, offensive and defensive, be- 
tween Uncle Sam and John Bull, would claim 
that they were Anglo-Saxons. Did they come from 
Egypt, the land of some lost arts? They were a 
people of culture; for their pottery, architecture, 
agriculture, argue considerable progress in the 
arts and sciences. Their origin and history 
being veiled by the twilight of fable, it is not easy 
to say anything definite about them; but that 
they practised cremation is evident from the fact 
that charcoal in abundance has been found in 
their graves. It is certain that they wrapped 
their dead in well-woven garments and deposited 
the bodies in caves or tombs set apart for that 
purpose. Several well-preserved skeletons have 
been discovered, still clad in their burial robes, 
the skin dried and shrunken upon the bones, but 
retaining the natural features, thus furnishing 
some clue to the past of a wonderful race. In- 
deed, the lineaments of the face, the flowing 
black hair, the long sharp nose, the desiccated 
body suggest the mummy, which let me, a la Poe, 
interrogate: 

Say, mummy grim, tell me I pray, 
From what mysterious laud you came ? 
Was it from where fair Eden lay, 
And Eve acquir'd her hapless fame ? 
Your very face denies disguise, 
And plainly tells of Afric's skies; 
Your straight black hair and olive hue 
Bespeak your race. — Th' Egytian Jew? 
Your forehead's high, your face is clean, 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

Your caste's proclaimed in princely mien, 
The home-spun round your limbs made fast 
Suggest your culture to the last. 
I ask not for your royal name: 
But tell me, prithee, whence you came ? 
Was it in Noah's ark you went, 
And viewed the rainbow, Heaven-sent; 
Dreading storms on Ararat bleak, 
True comfort here you came to seek, 
And high in cliffs, from perils free, 
You built those houses we now see ? 
Your pitchers bright may still be seen , 
Artistic, tipped with glowing sheen; 
The pots remain, the kettles too, 
The race is gone, but who are you ? 
Did you go forth from Abram's band, 
When God spoke of the promised land ? 
Or o'er the sea 'neath pillar's light, 
When Moses saved from Pharaoh's might? 
The manna, quails, the serpent's bite 
Are facts historic in your sight. 
I crave thee, tell us of your past, 
For we're a nation living fast; 
We thirst to know the how, the when, 
The why, the that, the thus, the then. 
Perhaps you're of a later age, 
I'll jog your mem'ry with a page. 
Did you e'er hear of Christ, the King 
Of whom seers speak and angels sing, 
Beth'lem's stable, the winter's night, 
The shepherds' vision, Joseph's flight, 
How water blushed e'en as he willed, 
The loaves increased, the storm stilled, 
The sick were healed, the demons fled 
And men arose that erst were dead; 
How for mankind His love to show 
He suffered death, its pain and woe ? 
Tw T enty of centuries — long space — 
Have changed in much the human race, 
While kingdoms, empires, rose and fell, 
Writ in sanguine hues, hist'ries tell. 
Years gone by, your mist-wrapped land 
Columbus viewed, with cross in hand; 
From Manco's plains and canons deep 
Came Francis' sons with you to weep. 
10 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

They found not man. On shelving rock, 
Your doors were hingeless, broke the lock, 
The corn untouched, the embers black, 
Sole relics of your nation's track. 
This land espied on western wave 
Is now the fair home of the brave, 
Whom despot rulers could not hold, 
Here live in bliss like kings of old, 
Serve the true God, enjoy their days 
Compete in art and social ways. 
Nature's dim veil they've deftly rent 
And heaven's fire to uses bent; 
The facile 'phone with ready sound 
Conveys the news the country round, 
The stately bike dots road and glen 
Where women ride the same as men; 
The phonograph, artistic scheme, 
Keeps the speech of an ancient theme. 
Had your ancestors saved its din, 
We'd have your story, kith and kin; 
We might describe your early fate, 
Learn the myst'ries of Behrings strait. 
No answer make you, nought you'll tell, 
Good bye, queer mummy — fare thee well. 

In my new parish there were only two 
churches, one at Ouray, the other at Silverton, 
twenty-seven miles distant. There were twenty 
missions or stations, with new ones springing 
up, as mines were discovered, saw mills put up, 
or families settled on the mesas, west of the San 
Miguel river. Having assumed my charge in 
the latter part of summer, I had ample time to 
visit all the stations before the winter set in. 
Tom Knowles, who kept a hotel at Ouray, paid 
me a ceremonious call on my arrival, and invited 
me to take a horse and saddle whenever I 
wished. It was a liberal act, for hay was worth 
from eighteen to twenty dollars a ton, and grain 
was always high. I availed myself of his kind 
invitation. My first trip was to Telluride, and 
11 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

my mission was to baptize a descendant of 
Kosciusko and Brian Boru, a young Margowski. 
The roads were good, and the most squeamish 
could make the trip without special risk of life 
or limb, save on the top of the pass at 
an elevation of 13,000 feet. Here, for 300 
yards you were compelled to take a trail 
that was always slippery from the constantly 
thawing snow, which fell nearly every time there 
was a storm. The snow, however, remained in 
the shady crannies of the rocks, melted during 
the day, and trickling down the narrow path, 
froze at night. Along the left of the trail was a 
steep precipice, and I noticed far down on a plain 
of rock several dead horses; but at the time I 
never thought of horses falling and rolling a 
quarter of a mile over the rocks. In going up 
the narrow trail my horse came to his knees sev- 
eral times, and, feeling unsafe, I dismounted and 
walked up the way leading to the pass. The 
trip to Telluride was made without an accident, 
but on my return about two inches of snow 
covered the ice on the pass. My horse's shoes 
were not sharp, and he fell before we had de- 
scended the mountain twenty-five yards. For 
ten minutes I paused to consider what course I 
should take. I concluded that I could not fol- 
low the trail, so I went down the side of the 
mountain, led my horse, and took chances. 
Scarcely had I turned from the trail five yards 
when a mass of snow, ice, mud and loose rock 
began to move down the mountain, and we 
moved with it. It was a sort of locomotion we 
had not bargained for, and the situation was such 
as to make the horse tremble with fear and great- 
ly disturb me. At last, with much watchfulness 
12 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

and care in keeping our feet, we arrived safe on 
the rocky plateau below. A young man who, I 
subsequently learned, was from Connecticut, was 
just coming up the trail on his way to Telluride. 
He asked me about the trail, as it was barely 
visible over the broken rocks. I informed him 
that unless his horse was well shod and the shoes 
sharp, it would be the height of folly to con- 
tinue his journey, but the stranger would make 
the attempt. I went on; and, as I was on the 
point of crossing the ridge of rocks that separates 
the Virginius mine from the pass, I looked back 
and saw the young man close to the top of the 
range, making slow progress. The horse was 
slipping, and I sat upon a rock to watch develop- 
ments. When within ten yards of the pass the 
horse fell, rolled off the trail and shot down the 
mountain like a rocket. The young man threw ' 
up his hands in terror and it was well for him 
that he was not in the saddle at the time. The 
horse must have tumbled for a quarter of a mile 
among the jagged rocks, and I presume every 
bone in his body was broken. I continued my 
journey, having learned a useful lesson, never to 
ride a poor horse, or one not properly shod. 

The success of my first year in the San Juan 
would have been greater, had the conditions of 
the parish been more favorable to harmonious 
action. Misunderstandings will arise in the best 
regulated societies, and to realize to fruitful pur- 
pose the divine constitution of the church, which 
distinguishes the teaching from the hearing ele- 
ment, needs a good will more than scholastic ac- 
quirements. As order, which is heaven's first 
law, requires this distinction, it follows that 
when the subject undertakes to teach the su- 

1S 



IN THE SAX JUAN 

perior how to discharge his duties, nothing but 
confusion prevails. "But heresies must be that 
the approved may be made manifest. ' ' 

It had been snowing for three days before 
Christmas, and crossing the range was no 
holiday pastime; but as Silverton was in my 
jurisdiction, I resolved to brave the danger, say 
the midnight mass there on Christmas night, and 
on horseback return to Ouray, where I intended 
to say two masses on Christmas day, which hap- 
pened that year to fall on Tuesday . Accordingly, 
I left the previous Saturday for Silverton, where 
I said mass on Sunday. I had arranged with a 
gentleman, named Fred Thornton, that he was 
to come over on Christmas eve with two horses 
from Ouray, not only to test the trail, but to 
consider the feasibility of our returning after the 
midnight mass, for, as there was no night stage 
running between the two towns, I should be 
obliged to return on horseback. Fred was an 
expert horseman and an old mountaineer. I 
discovered after his death that he had a history 
of his own, as well as another name. He had 
been in the regular service in the Far West. One 
day while with a companion watching the horses 
and mules some distance from camp, the Indians 
swooped down upon them. The boys sprang to 
their horses and made good their escape for a 
long distance; Fred had the better horse and out- 
ran his companion, whom the Indians overtook 
and killed not far from camp. Fred rode in and 
gave the alarm, having left his companion to die 
alone. The soldiers regarded this as an act of 
cowardice in Fred and despised him. Fred often 
spoke to me of his hairbreadth escape and 
claimed that he too would have been killed had 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

he attempted to make a stand. He concluded 
that discretion was the better part of valor and 
saved himself. It was after Fred's death, which 
happened a year later, that I learned his real 
name was not Thornton, and the probability is 
that one bright morning he bade Uncle Sam good- 
bye. Fred was no coward; several bullet marks 
in his body, received in actual combat with the 
Sioux and Commanche Indians, attested his 
valor. Of a good family, fine personal appear- 
ance, gentlemanly deportment, religious tem- 
perament, moreover, a capital shot, Fred was 
born to command. 

I made the trip to Silverton on Saturday morn- 
ing in the usual way by stage without any more 
serious inconvenience than that of finding my- 
self obliged to shovel snow, open the road and 
help drag out the horses from the high drifts. 
Napoleon's trip across the Alps may be con- 
sidered pleasant when compared with the fatigue 
and perils of a journey away up in the clouds 
during one of the fierce storms which sweep 
through the canons. At times it is hard to tell 
which way the wind blows; it comes at once from 
all points and so thick is the fine sifted snow 
that you are almost blinded. Besides, midway 
down in the canon on the narrow road drilled in 
the side of the mountain out of the solid rock, 
with 2,000 feet of giddy heights above and a 
depth of 3,000 feet below, the mind is filled with 
consternation and dismay at the boding terrors 
around. But though the arrows of death fell 
around me, I was safe; for the Lord was my 
helper. The novice is so alarmed at the sight 
of the abysses around him that even in the sum- 
mer, when the roads are good and danger is re- 

15 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

mote, he alights from the coach and prefers to 
walk, not trusting himself to the best vehicle and 
driver. The scenery baffles description — sublime 
and awful alone can describe it. In the winter 
only old stagers and people habituated to moun- 
tain travel will essay the road. A false step, a 
small snowslide, and an act of contrition is in 
order. 

There was much travel in those days, as the 
mines at, and in the vicinity of, Red Mountain 
were producing much ore; and, besides, the boys 
often came down to the metropolis of the San 
Juan to enjoy its famous baths and get a box of 
Doctor Rowan's pills. This worthy son of iEscula- 
pius had a specific for all diseases under the sun 
and threatened to send every one who did not 
use his spring medicines, about the time the 
ground-hog showed himself, to Rowan's ranch, 
which in local parlance meant the graveyard. 
Two of the boys came down one day and, it is 
said, indulged over-much at a resort of unsavory 
reputation. Late in the evening they left for 
Ironton, but one of them never arrived there. 
The road follows the circuitous canon and it tested 
all the genius of Otto Mears, thepathmaker of the 
West, to construct it; it went east and it went 
west, it twisted and turned and boxed the com- 
pass, and on a dark night it would perplex the 
most wide-awake traveler to know what to do on 
this road. The two young men walked together 
for some time; soon one, a Canadian, began to 
lag behind, so the other pushed on and left his 
companion. The latter, in rounding one of the 
points, forgot to make the necessary turn and 
walked deliberately over one of the most awful 
precipices in the Rockies. Where he struck the 

16 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

first protruding rock must have been 1,500 feet 
below, and his swift flight downward was traced 
by shreds of his clothing; nor did he stop there, but 
on, down the dreadful abyss he shot, striking 
here and there, bounding from rock to rock, 
until at last in a direct sweep of a thousand feet he 
was dashed into the creek below. Was he killed ? 
I should think so; not a bone in his body was 
left unbroken, and the very boots were torn from 
his feet. The naked eye could not discern him 
from Lhe road at that depth, where he lay for 
days until men came down from the mine to hunt 
him up. After a long search they discovered 
the mangled form, which they decently buried 
at the Ouray cemetery. 

There are some remarkable instances in the 
traditional history of Ouray which show that a 
man may fall a great distance into a canon and 
not be killed. For one such exception at least 
I can vouch. For two years as I went up and 
down the road I saw the remains of the wreck 
lying in the bottom of the canon, and there is 
every reason to believe that some of the sleigh 
box is still there. The accident happened to two 
miners whose names I have forgotten. They 
had been at Ouray over night, and in the morn- 
ing left for Red Mountain on King's stage with 
Ike Stephens as driver, as good a Jehu as ever 
cracked a whip over a six-horse coach. Ike was 
a ' 'peach" and would stay with the horses to the 
last. It had been snowing a little, but it was a 
pretty fair morning when Ike pulled out for Red 
Mountain, with a big load of eggs and general 
merchandise, and for his live freight, the two 
miners who made up their minds not to go home 
until morning. They occupied the back seat in 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

the sleigh. Just as they were rounding the last 
dangerous point before coming by the numerous 
small slides that always came down when it 
stormed, the accident to which I refer occurred. 
On the cliff above there were two spires of rock 
that shot up for many feet. The snow drifted in 
between these and down upon the road, forming 
a high bank, over which Ike had the temerity 
to drive. The consequence was that when the 
sleigh went down over the ridge of snow, the 
box came from between the sleigh stakes and 
started over the precipice, the horses plunged 
forward, Ike held on to the reins and the now 
frightened leaders drew him out of the box, but 
the miners, the eggs and dead pigs, together 
with a large amount of merchandise, w r ent over 
and fell nearly a straight 250 feet. Strange to 
say not a bone was broken; the two men escaped 
with a few scratches and a big scare, but the box 
was in flitters. It was no smooth slide — it was a 
sheer fall straight down until they came within 
twenty feet of the bottom, and then a tumble of 
about the same distance into the creek. The 
miners were in an india-rubber condition when 
they realized where they were and resolved the 
next time to go home before regular bed time. 
I had a little personal experience, coming down 
the same road from Ironton. To the left are two 
little lakes. Old Joe was the driver and could 
handle four horses as well as any man on the 
line. He had a soft spot in his heart for me and 
always tried to make me as comfortable as pos- 
sible. The driver's seat was a coveted place; un- 
less some drummer from Denver monopolized it 
very early in the morning, old Joe to all inquiries 
would reply "this seat is taken," for he knew my 

18 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

day to go out. We left at the usual time for 
I ronton, whither I was bound, to see after the 
building of a church. On the return trip a large 
excursion party was making the circle and there 
were many passengers from New York and Bos- 
ton. Joe had a light stage and the two wheel 
horses of the Concord coach attached to it. I 
sat by his side and we were enjoying the grand 
scenery when the nigh horse shied at a piece of 
wood in the roadway. The horse, which was a 
powerful animal, crowded his mate over to the 
edge of the bank in spite of Joe's hard pulling. 
I reached out my right hand, caught the lines 
and drew the horse's head back to the harness 
saddle; it was too late, we were gone. The stage 
turned completely over and slid down the em- 
bankment through the brushwood and rock. 
The horses fell and tumbled over and over, I 
held on to one rein and Joe to the other, a lady 
screamed and a gentleman from the Hub lost his 
hat, exhibiting a bare head that would provoke 
an Irishman's shillelah on a fair day in Ireland. 
The spring seat seemed to catch the inspiration, 
for it struck him fair on the exposed part and 
opened the scalp fully four inches. I fared no 
better, for the tire on the wheel struck me below 
the knee, fracturing the bone and scraping me to 
the ankle. The horses tried to walk over us, 
but crippled though we were, we managed to 
control the animals and get the wagon on the 
road. We were happy to reach Ouray alive. In 
compensation for the accident, the stage owners 
politely furnished me with a pass over the road. 
Those days are gone, and their associations of 
mingled pleasure and pain, but the pass still re- 
mains. I had many thrilling experiences on 

19 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

these perilous roads, but I passed through the 
ordeal unscathed and with an increase of valu- 
able knowledge. The missionary has many 
sources of consolation, when he observes in the 
scene of his labors the wondrous operations of 
grace as well as nature. While his labors are 
many, the balance in the comparison of his 
vocation with that of other men is in his favor. 
Even here below he enjoys blessings a hundred 
fold, and he has the promise of a special crown in 
the future to nerve him in the battle of the pres- 
ent life. 

We arrived about one o'clock at Silverton, 
very little worse for a rather exciting trip. Dur- 
ing the afternoon I called upon most of the fam- 
ilies in town, and notified them that on Sunday 
we should have not only mass, but benediction of 
the Blessed Sacrament and a Christmas mid- 
night mass. Mrs. Prosser had charge of the 
choir and was a musician of no mean degree. 
A convert, intelligent, pious and charitable, she 
was active in promoting Catholicity in that min- 
ing camp. The Silverton church workers were 
second to none in the state, and, strange to say, 
were nearly all women. Practical woman suf- 
frage was in wholesome operatioii there long 
before it was embodied in the legislation of the 
state. The women attended not only to the 
proper duties of the altar society, but in no small 
measure to the financial affairs of the church. 
Fairs and balls were organized and managed by 
them, the tickets were sold, the collections made 
and the money put in the bank to the credit of 
the church. I am happy to know that their zeal 
has not abated, for word comes still that they 
are not weary of well doing. I said that the 

20 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

church workers were, strange to say , nearly all wo- 
men, for I do not forget that representative Catholic 
gentleman at Silverton, Barney O'Driscoll. Who 
does not know Barney O'Driscoll of the San 
Juan ? Who has not heard of him in the state of 
Colorado ? Honored by his district with a seat 
in the councils of his state, Barney has always 
worked for the best interests of his constituents. 
Familiarly styled the colonel, he is known of all 
men. A military man as well as a lawyer, he 
served in the Civil war, after which he drifted 
with hundreds of others into the San Juan. He 
has lectured in most of the towns of the south- 
west on politics, the Bible and science, mineral- 
ogy and all the live subjects of the day. Until 
his grandchildren grew to a sufficient size to wait 
on the altar, the colonel served mass every Sun- 
day, and as long as he was around the camp the 
priest did not shovel snow trom the church door, 
or build a fire when the thermometer was twenty- 
five below zero. Upon my arrival at Silverton 
the colonel sought me out at once and looked 
upon it as a crime if I remained at the hotel. 
He loved to treat me with the best southern 
hospitality, and ransacked the butcher shop for 
the tenderest of the toughest Kansas chickens 
and the freshest of the stalest Kansas eggs, which 
found their way into the mountain camps. If I 
was not at the colonel's I could be found at 
Lonergans', Cramers', Higgins', Prossers'; in- 
deed, the people of Silverton felt deeply offended, 
if I declined their hospitality. 

On this particular Sunday before Christmas, 
the colonel waited, as was his wont, after mass 
to escort me to his log cabin, which stood some 
distance from the church, at the base of a moun- 

21 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

tain that towers on the north far above the little 
city, which nestles in its shelter. The lofty 
peaks were hidden in clouds, dense mists swept 
over them now and again, and streaks of light 
illuminating the darkness, revealed the shifting 
storm, which was raging on the summit of the 
mountain. The colonel shook his head and said: 
"You will have a hard trip across the range to- 
morrow night. ' ' A good dinner at his hospitable 
board caused me to forget the pangs of a long 
fast and the thought of impending dangers. At 
three o'clock, on returning to the church, we 
found that it had narrowly escaped destruction in 
our absence. The candle which I had left burn- 
ing before the Blessed Sacrament, emitted a spark 
which set the altar cloth on fire, and the fire 
went out just when the cloth was burned from 
the epistle side to the front of the tabernacle. 
The colonel was in favor of pronouncing it a 
miracle, but at all events, the church was safe 
and we felt happy. 

Little Joe, the colonel's nephew, then saddled 
his famous burro, and fetched two large loads of 
green spruce and pine for the Christmas night 
decoration. The next day every one helped to 
beautify the altar and the church. Boughs of 
green were conspicuous everywhere. With the 
paper roses that had been made by the ladies of 
the altar society we decked the pine — strange it 
was to see American beauties on pine trees, but 
the simple artists thought the effect was good 
and there were no others to be satisfied. About 
five in the afternoon Fred Thornton arrived 
from Ouray with the horses, which we were to 
ride back after midnight mass. His report on 
the condition of the trail was discouraging. It 

22 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

was heavy, in part filled, and the mountains so 
much covered with snow, that snowslides might 
come down at any minute. I spent the evening 
hearing confessions, instructing the children and 
at intervals watching the finishing touches that 
were given to the altar. At twelve o'clock the 
church was filled to the doors with Protestants 
as well as Catholics. It is customary for the 
miner to come to town at least three times a 
year, at Christmas, Easter tide and on the 
Fourth of July, and if he is a practical Cath- 
olic, the church is one of the first places he 
visits. At Christmas, the town is alive with the 
hardy sons of toil, who gather from far and near 
to replenish the empty grub sack and buy pow- 
der and other necessaries for the winter siege in 
prospect. Most of the boys were in church that 
night, and there was a regular round of hand 
shaking and merry Christmas greetings before 
and after the services. A little after twelve the 
"Gloria in Excelsis" pealed through the little 
fane and was caught up by the choir until it rang 
out in sweet strains of music far up the streets of 
the town. I preached a short discourse on the 
Christmas holy day and the lessons that should 
be drawn from the event. I was unable to ex- 
tend my remarks, as I had to set out for Ouray 
immediately after the services. The service over, 
Fred soon had the two horses before the church 
door. We sprang into the saddle and many a 
God speed and merry Christmas followed us into 
the storm and wind. We were soon rounding 
Stoibers' mill and heading up the valley to Red 
Mountain. The night was dark and a sifting 
snow filled the air, making it necessary to go 
slowly and feel the way. At the mill there were 

23 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

several trails. Unfortunately we took the 
wrong one and found ourselves crossing to the 
opposite side of the valley. We endeavored to 
turn in the narrow passage, where our horses 
floundered in four feet of snow. After a while 
they fell, compelling us to dismount, tramp the 
snow and give them a chance to rise. When we 
regained the old trail close to the railroad track, 
I told Fred to follow me on the track to Red 
Mountain. I had learned from a miner who had 
ridden down the track on Sunday, that the trail 
was fairly good. I knew there were no trains, 
the bridges were few, and we hoped in some way 
to get over them. Far up the height for a mile 
or more the snow enveloped the mountain, and 
the danger of a snowslide was great. When we 
reached a place where twenty or thirty mules, 
and I believe a man, were lost, several years be- 
fore, we were struck with fear and Fred said 
afterwards that while passing it he could 
scarcely breathe; but no slide came down. At 
times we walked to keep up the circulation in 
our benumbed limbs and rest our wearied horses, 
and then, leaping into the saddle, spurred our 
animals on, hoping to reach Ouray by seven 
o'clock, the time set for the first mass. At 
Sheridan Junction we left the railroad along 
which we had been steering our way and resumed 
the trail, which proved to be a good sleigh road 
from that to Red Mountain. Fred took a hot 
cup of coffee and it must have been strong, as he 
was more lively the rest of the trip, which, to the 
gratification of our jaded horses, was down hill. 
When we entered the canon it was still dark and 
rendered more so by the snow which was falling 
and drifting. All at once my horse stopped and 

2-t 



FIRST EXPERIENCES 

refused to move. I urged him, but he stood 
stock still, then I struck him, and suddenly turn- 
ing, he tried to walk into the canon. I wrenched 
him back with all my might and, dismounting, 
saw to my horror that there was a high snow 
bank across the road and that the horse, unable 
to go through it, had been trying to go around 
it. We should have been precipitated to the 
bottom of one of the most awful canons in the 
Rockies, had the horse pursued the way upon 
which I was urging him. Breaking a path 
through the drift we were in the saddle again and 
another hour brought us into Ouray on time for 
the second mass, chilled to the bone and worn 
out. I proceeded to say my other two masses 
and was soon feasting on a breakfast of the 
American bird. 



25 



SECOND SKETCH 

IT is a true, if flippant, saying of the political 
orator, that people are certain of two things in 
this world, namely: taxes and death. The lat- 
ter is not so prevalent as the former in the greater 
altitudes, owing perhaps to the fact that few who 
have passed the meridian of life, attempt any con- 
siderable elevation. Death, however, comes and 
beckons the young and strong to its cold em- 
brace here as elsewhere, with the same imperious 
finger as those whose life is already on the 
wane. 

One Saturday afternoon in the early autumn of 
1890, I received a despatch from Silverton, 

notifying me that Mrs. was dead, and that 

my presence was required at the funeral, the fol- 
lowing afternoon. Silverton is twenty-seven 
miles from Ouray, and beyond a lofty range of 
mountains. Thirteen miles of the journey are 
up hill and fourteen down. On Sunday I was 
to say mass at Ouray at 9:30 a. m. and at Red 
Mountain at noon. Red Mountain camp was on 
the top of the range, 11,000 feet above sea level. 
In 1890 it was in the heyday of its glory. 
Everyone had work, and if I remember aright 
the wages was three dollars and fift}- cents a day. 
It was easier to get money than specimens of the 
peacock and ruby silver, which came from the 
famous Yankee Girl, a million-a-year producer 
hard by. The Vanderbilt and Genesee, a few 
hundred yards distant, were also big shippers of 
gold as well as silver, and the town was in a 
flourishing state. The lights never went out in 
the camp, unless when coal oil failed, or a stray 

2€ 



FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 

cowboy shot up the town. The men worked 
night and day, shift and shift about, and the 
people were happy. The gambling halls were 
never closed, the restaurants did a profitable 
business, and no one could lay his weary bones 
on a bed for less than a dollar. Whiskey was as 
plentiful as the limpid water that gushed from 
the hills behind the town, sparkling in the sun- 
light. In those days it never cost a stranger any- 
thing for drinks; he was welcome to eat, drink 
and be merry; indeed, it was deemed an insult 
to refuse to partake of anything that was going. 
Tramps were as scarce as Indians on the shores 
of Long Island. The prospector's cabin on the 
mountain trail was left unlocked. You might 
step in, cook your dinner and go on, or if tired, 
unroll your blankets and rest to your heart's 
content. If the owner was at home it was all 
right, if not, the conditions of hospitality were 
the same, and these were, ' ' come in, help your- 
self, and go rejoicing on your way," — a strik- 
ing contrast to great cities, where a selfish opu- 
lence drives the needy from the door. The owner 
of the mountain cabin, free with his money, 
bacon or bunk, deemed it an hpnor to entertain 
his caller, however poor. Should the reader ask 
of what nationality such generous people were, 
the answer is Americans, Irish-Americans and 
IrisK In my work on the missions, I have 
found Americans liberal and self sacrificing, and 
I do not believe that I have any prejudice in 
their favor, because I was born beneath the folds 
of the Star Spangled Banner. Of the Irish and 
the Irish- Americans there can be only one 
opinion, and it is, that in the masses you will 
find the two extremes, the worst and the best. 

27 



IN THE SAX JUAN 

They are great in faith, hope and charity when 
they are good; but when they are bad they are 
bad all over. The four little churches, whose 
bells call the people to divine worship from 
Ridgeway on the north, to Silverton on the 
south, a distance apart of forty miles, tell of their 
faith. With their own hands and money we 
toiled together, until at every ten miles of the 
way a bell hailed the name of Mary, Joseph or 
Patrick. There was no church at that time at 
Red Mountain; later one was erected two miles 
below at a little town called Ironton. The 
schoolhouse, an old store, or a private residence, 
served as a place of worship, and the priest al- 
ways received a warm welcome from the miners, 
who never failed to drop their mite into the 
basket on Sunday. A five or ten dollar bill or coin 
was nothing strange to find in the collection. The 
miner said, "He made a good talk and we ought 
to help the preacher. ' ' I said mass at Ouray at 
the usual time on Sunday morning, preached a 
short discourse on the gospel of the day, and was 
about to mount my broncho for Red Mountain, 
when I espied my old friend Bill}- Maher, who 
had just come down from Mount Sneffles, where 
he had been working in the mines. I invited him 
to accompany me to Red Mountain, and fulfil the 
precept of hearing mass on Sunday. Billy as- 
sented and hastened to the livery stable for a 
horse, there to find only one wicked broncho 
whose heel leverage was known far and wide. 
This animal had the centre of gravity so well 
focussed that he could buck a Kansas cowboy 
out of the saddle, or give a Navajo Indian a pain 
in the midriff for a week. But Billy, nothing 
daunted, ordered him saddled and brought out. 

2S 



FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 

All the stable boys in King's barn tightened the 
saddle girth at the imminent risk of their lives, 
and the famous roan was led forth. Billy vaulted 
into the saddle with all the grace of one of Sher- 
man's troopers. In the twinkling of an eye the 
horse stood on his hind feet as if to depart to the 
world of spirits, and then came down, with his 
fore feet stiff upon the ground, with a thud that 
would break the heart of an ordinary man; in 
another moment his hind feet were far in the air 
and his head was bowed low, throwing Billy well 
forward in the saddle; but the familiar half grin 
remained on the face of the rider, who sat like a 
rock on a mountain. Billy was an athlete. Born 
at the foot of Keeper's Hill in Tipperary, he came 
of a hardy peasantry that know no fear. He 
had often ridden his father's gray mare over 
hedge and ditch in the hunting season, keeping 
well up with the hounds, so he was quite in his 
element. Half Ouray was out, and the gamblers 
deserted the faro tables to see the sport outdoors, 
for everyone knew, and, what was better, es- 
teemed Billy Maher, the man that never swore, 
never drank to excess, never lost his temper and 
had a good word for everyone. Billy, too, was 
the right hand man of the priest and s.isters. 
Many a time he led the sisters over the rugged 
mountain passes, and from camp to camp, 
gathered the dollars that helped to build the 
hospitals of Durango and Ouray. But to return 
to his encounter with the broncho. The animal 
gradually stopped its wild plunging and dashed 
madly up the street, everyone getting out of its 
way for bare life. Here, for the moment, let me 
digress to mention the characteristic feat of the 
expert cowboy subduing the wild broncho. The 

29 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

wild pony is led out into the street, the throngs 
cheer, the horse, unused to man, becomes frantic 
and strives to break away. When everything is 
ready , the sprinter of the plains is turned loose and 
stands for a moment perplexed, looks wildly 
around and then rushes down the street with 
lightning speed. With a whoop the cowboy is 
after him, and when the wild horse has attained 
his greatest speed, the cowboy rises gracefully in 
his stirrups, measures the distance between him- 
self and the fleeing pony with his eye, then his 
arm shoots out, his hand poises in the air and a 
coil of rope unrolls like a serpent, hastens on 
its course with unerring accuracy, catches the 
hind foot of the frightened horse and closes 
around it. In an instant the trained horse of the 
cowboy throws himself back on his haunches, 
planting his fore feet firmly on the ground to 
meet the resilient shock which comes, when his 
foe is stretched upon the ground. An ordinary 
rider would go far over the horse's head, but the 
cowboy is prepared for the rebound and remains 
firmly seated in his saddle. The lassoed horse is 
laid low by a dextrous movement and in an in- 
stant the cowboy is out of his saddle and has a 
bridle on the animal. The other pony keeps the 
rope taut and stands, viewing the ceremony with 
great interest. It takes but a few moments to put a 
saddle on the animal and then the fun really be- 
gins. The handling of the bucking broncho is an 
amusement which makes the most sedate laugh, 
and success in the operation crowns the rider who 
holds his seat ever after as a victor. The antics 
of the horse are ludicrous, dangerous and even 
foreign to that noblest of animals. In trying to 
get rid of the rider, it will lie down and roll over 



FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 

if possible. Rising on its hind feet, it often falls 
backward and maims or kills the rider. Jumping 
stiff-legged, crossing its feet, kicking, striking 
with its fore feet or springing into the air and 
coming down solidly on the ground, are feats 
which delight the cowboy. Gradually its powers 
of endurance are exhausted and the animal be- 
coming docile, learns to love the cowboy. 

We were oft at last and at a speed that would 
have dazzled the eyes of the hero of Winchester. 
The road for eight miles is narrow, with bare- 
ly room for two teams in the widest place. You 
can see the bed of the creek two thousand feet be- 
low. By the time the most dangerous point was 
reached, Billy's horse had cooled down and was 
quiet and gentle. A grade of three thousand five 
hundred feet in thirteen miles deserves men- 
tion even in the Rockies, and when we arrived 
at Red Mountain our horses were not in the best 
shape. Billy brought the boys together, and I 
arranged the temporary altar, beginning mass at 
about 1 2 130 a. m. When breakfast was over I had 
a pleasant chat with those patient delvers in the 
bowels of the earth, and an introduction to the 
newcomers in camp. Mutual good will exists 
among the poor and honest sons of toil, and in 
a marked degree this is true of the miner, who 
always lives in danger of death in handling 
dynamite. Moreover, he runs the frequent risk 
of being maimed for life by premature explosions, 
caving-in of mines and breaking of cables. 
Whether this has anything to do with the 
miner's frankness and good nature I know not; 
but I have seen more genuine sorrow exhibited 
over a miner, killed in an accident, than at the 
pompous funeral of the elite. I have found a 

31 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

warmth of feeling in the grasp of a finger-stalled 
hand that I have never experienced in the kid- 
gloved touch of the city cad. The miner's ways 
are characterized by simplicity, bluntness and 
honesty, and he possesses a rough, sound, practical 
judgment. Even his pastimes evince a marked 
degree of virility. Witness the drill contests. They 
are the supreme final test of superiority among 
the picked hammer strikers and drill turners, and 
cause such excitement in a camp that thousands 
of dollars change hands. Great muscular power 
and endurance is something of which an}- one 
may be proud. For months before the trial, two 
or three hours are spent each week in periods of 
fifteen minutes, and these giants of the drill stand 
over the hardest block of granite that can be 
found in the mountains. One of them strikes the 
drill for three or five minutes and the other turns 
it; a good turner, again, is an absolute condition 
for success, for if the drill once becomes fast in the 
rock, the contest is practically over. The drill 
must have received the proper temper and the 
blows must come with a force proportioned to the 
strength of the drill. The blows fall like a trip 
hammer and with a rapidity which the eye can 
scarcely follow, and with each blow the drill 
turns in the hand of the holder, ejecting the fine- 
cut granite from the hole, and thus keeping it 
open. At the end of a few minutes, the striker, 
fatigued by his rapid movements, drops theheavy 
hammer into the hands of his companion, seizes 
the drill and the hole goes down into the hardest 
of granite at the rate of an inch and a-half to the 
minute. Twenty -five inches or more have been 
drilled into the granite in a quarter of an hour, 
something which our fathers thought, never could 

32 



FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 

be accomplished by the hand of man. While he 
makes little display of piety, he is firm in the 
faith and ready to do what is fair. He will 
not fight without a good cause, and he does not 
need much of the diplomatist's art to decide when 
he is in the right. As a rule, he minds his own 
affairs, and except when he indulges over much 
in the cup that inebriates, keeps out of strife 
and cares, and, therefore, is entitled to wear a 
medal on his breast. 

Billy having answered many questions about 
the boys on the stormy mountains, we tightened 
our saddle girths, mounted our bronchos and 
rode leisurely down through the tall pines to the 
dilapidated town of Chattanooga. It had been 
dismantled by a snowslide which a few years be- 
fore swept away a part of the town, and its 
condition at our visit was not inviting from any 
point of view. The ruins, consisting of the roofs 
and sides of houses, were strewn for half a mile 
over the valley, and the population of a once 
flourishing hamlet had dwindled down to the 
small number of two. One of these kept a saloon , 
which was a sort of half-way house between Red 
Mountain and Silverton. The other, who was a 
widow with many children, appeared to be in 
the laundry business, for the clothes lines were 
always full; but where she got her customers the 
future historian of Chattanooga must discover. 
The afternoon was beautiful. The sun sent his 
slanting rays down the Ophir Range, diffusing 
them in quivering banners of light, until they 
reached the valley below, where they were lost 
in a maze of shadows. The aspen far up the 
rugged heights, ' 'confessing the gentlest breeze, ' ' 
was just changing into the sere and yellow leaf 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

of the dying year. The sides of the mountain, 
clothed in the purple hues of scrubby oak leaf 
and flora, indigenous to the state of Colorado, 
and adorned with a bouquet here and there of 
pine or spruce, offered a delightful picture to the 
lover of the wild and romantic in nature. As 
noble a stream as ever burst from Colorado's 
mountains rushes on forever to the smiling val- 
ley; rocks like cathedral spires, towering sky 
high, pierced the azure dome of heaven, and one 
peak soaring far above the others seems to stand 
like a sentry over the glorious creation. The 
blue canopy rests like a curtain on the valley, 
while the deep hush of the autumn afternoon 
invited the mind to reflections upon the Al- 
mighty Artist, who reveals Himself in such an 
awe-inspiring manner. 

Here we had to ford the stream at the old 
crossing. We drew up our jaded horses to let 
them drink of the cool water. To the right, 
upon a little knoll, lay the whitened bones of a 
horse, stripped clean by coyotes, mountain lions 
and years of bleaching in a rarefied atmosphere. 
Billy said musingly: "Father Gibbons, that horse 
has a history. If those bones could speak, they 
might tell of a tragedy which happened at this 
crossing and in this stream. When the rich 
strikes around Silverton were made, people 
rushed from all quarters to the new El Dorado, 
some to work, others to gamble and many 
to see the wild West; but all to make a 
fortune at once. Among them was a youth of 
refined education and manners. I have forgot- 
ten his name, but for convenience sake, I shall 
call him Tom. Tom came to the camp to get 
rich, but, like many others, he found out that 

34 



FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 

gold does not grow on the trees. The long win- 
ter in Silverton kept him from prospecting in the 
mountains, and, like many of his young acquaint- 
ances, he spent no small part of his days and 
nights in dissipation. By degrees he became as 
depraved as any of the vicious classes of the 
frontier. He was an expert gambler and drank 
deep of the draught that kills. The dance hall 
and the wine room made him a physical and 
moral wreck. He cast aside the wholesome re- 
straints of religion, and the influences of early 
training lost all their force for him. One night 
he played for high stakes with a man of few 
words and a cool head, one who kept an eye on 
his opponent as well as the cards. Of course the 
trusty forty-five lay beside the heap of gold, 
that shone in the lamplight of the dingy gam- 
bling house. It is said that Tom cheated, and 
was called down; there was a fight and the 
trouble was patched up by the onlookers and 
the parties themselves. After this the game 
dragged along in silence, but a silence that was 
so intense and significant as to suggest an under- 
current of unpleasant feeling, notably in the 
taciturn stranger. When daylight came they 
were about even in the game, and the man of 
reserved manners, walking up to the bar, invited 
all the company to have a drink. Then turning 
to Tom, he said: 'Let us go over to Red Moun- 
tain to-morrow. I am tired of this place.' 'All 
right,' said Tom, 'after dinner, we shall go.' So 
after dinner next day they left Silverton for Red 
Mountain, and here at the crossing they gave 
their horses a drink, just as we have done. Poor 
Tom was a little in advance of the stranger, who, 
while the horses were drinking, coolly drew his 

35 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

revolver and deliberately shot his companion 
dead. With a groan Tom dropped from the 
saddle into the icy water, and his horse rushed 
through the stream to the opposite side. An- 
other well-directed shot from the murderer's pis- 
tol laid the horse low upon that little knoll, and 
his bones have remained there all these years." 
Billy and I spurred on our horses and were soon 
in front of the neat little white church, which 
stood like an angel at the foot of the mountain. 
The funeral to which I had been summoned 
was already at the church, which was tastefully 
draped by the good ladies of Silverton. The 

deceased Mrs. was a lady of good birth, a 

woman who, an American would say, had a great 
deal of push and energy. She had come to this 
country young, but with a mind well stored with 
Catholic doctrine. She had acquired the rudi- 
ments of her education in the national schools of 
Ireland, which afford the young an excellent 
training, and received the finishing touches of a 
liberal education in a convent school. In a 
moment of folly she contracted an alliance with 
one who, in station and culture, was her in- 
ferior, and reaped the fruits of her imprudence 
in an unhappy married life. With true Christian 
patience she accepted the cross, nursed her grief 
in secret, and with her vision purified by suffer- 
ing, learned to accept her lot and acknowledge 
that it was just. Thus her domestic trials were 
for her the discipline of perfection, and being a 
faithful child of the church, "she learned obe- 
dience by the things she suffered." In a letter 
which I received after her death, she left the 
story of her sorrows in an impassioned narrative 
that would draw tears from the most hardened. She 

36 



FUNERAL IN THE ROCKIES 

revealed the skeleton that was hid in the closet, 
and as I reflected upon her death, which, humanly 
speaking, was untimely, the thought came to me 
that it might have been better for the poor 
creature if she had spent her life in her mother's 
modest cottage than as the wife of a domestic 
tyrant, who hated the Catholic Church and com- 
pelled his devoted wife secretly to steal into the 
house of God to worship Him after the fashion of 
her ancestors. But she married a stranger to the 
household of faith. She did not live in vain, 
how T ever, if her example serves as a warning to 
others. The last prayers having been said, the 
funeral cortege moved through the little tow r n to 
the cemetery, where the final benediction was 
given. As the mountain breezes softly fanned 
the newly made grave, and bore away the echoes 
of the murmuring requiescant in pace, we turned 
from the sad scene with sobering thoughts upon 
the vanity of earthly things. 

The sun was just below the mountains and we 
had an opportunity of enjoying one of the splen- 
did sunsets for which Colorado is famous. No 
poet's pen or artist's pencil could give the faint- 
est idea of that sea of golden light in which the 
monarch of day sank to his rest, bequeathing the 
glowing radiance of his departure to the mighty 
ranges. With one of the sudden changes which 
are familiar in these regions, the blaze of glory 
had scarcely faded when ominous clouds began 
to steal over the lately sun-tipped heights an'd 
the lazy rumblings of distant thunder warned us 
of the coming storm. Billy must report for work 
in the Virginius mine the next morning, and 
twenty-seven miles in the saddle surely give a 
man an appetite. So having fed the horses and 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

taken a pretty substantial supper, we started 
homeward in good form. Passing out of the 
valley we began to climb the rugged ascent to 
Red Mountain and had not proceeded far when 
the rain came down in torrents. The water be- 
gan to flood the trail, which we found ourselves 
obliged to leave and seek the shelter of a cabin, 
that nestled among the trees. In moving down 
the slippery passage, my horse fell; luckily I 
was not in the saddle, having dismounted before 
we began to climb the hill. The horse rolled 
down until he came in contact with a pine, 
around which his feet slid, leaving him in a most 
embarrassing position — perfectly helpless. He 
could not get up, he could not get down; mean- 
while the rain came fast and furious. The light- 
ning played around our heads and heaven's artil- 
lery awoke the echoes with responsive detona- 
tions, which produced a grand but terrific music. 
There the horse lay unable to extricate himself, 
while Billy and myself tugged and pulled and tried 
to lift, but could not move him. At last we took 
the halters, tied them around the prostrate 
animal and then to the saddlehorn of Billy's roan 
and detached the horse from the tree without 
further trouble. The storm had passed and the 
moon, stealing out from behind the clouds, lighted 
our way through the dark pines. Leading our 
fagged horses, we trudged over the slippery road 
until we arrived at Red Mountain, where we took 
a light lunch. After a short rest we rode down 
the mountain to Ouray, which we reached shortly 
before midnight. 



THIRD SKETCH 

THE winter of 1888 in the San Juan was 
pleasant. There had been a thaw in Jan- 
uary, but Washington's birthday found the 
snow hard and compact, and the weather was 
fine to the end of February. Some days were so 
warm that the snow melted a little, even on the 
tops of the mountains, but froze again; thus the 
fear of snowslides was removed. 

The miners, on horseback or afoot, had crossed 
and recrossed the Sneffles range on their way to 
the city of Telluride. They esteemed such meth- 
ods of travel cheaper than to pay seven dollars 
to ride in the cold on one of Wood's large stages, 
and listen to the monotonous bu-u-u-ing of a 
stage driver, who had plied his whip for forty 
years over western hills and plains. Wrapped 
in blankets, and seated generally alone on a high 
seat, on a cold day, anyone might well fall into 
the habit of bu-u-u-ing. The old gentleman 
may have thought his soft humming helped the 
horses; but it became so much a matter of course 
with him, that the moment the wheels began to 
revolve, the tiresome refrain was struck up and 
held with a dreary iteration from station to sta- 
tion. 

From Dallas to Telluride, a distance of some 
fifty miles, three stations provided the necessary 
relays. These stages were among the best 
equipped in the West. The horses were in good 
condition, well fed and well groomed, and being 
strong animals, whirled the stage over the road 
at a rattling gait. At one of the stations was an 
old hostler, always clean and neat, who stood 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

six feet in his stockings, was as straight as an 
arrow and had a military bearing. His name 
was O'Connell; but it did not need the name to 
tell his nationality. With the approach of the 
stage, he had fresh horses promptly at hand and 
ready to put into the traces. Seldom over three 
minutes were occupied in the change. Every- 
thing around the lonely stable on the mountain 
road was as bright as a pin, and I concluded that 
Mr. O'Connell must have belonged at one time 
to Systematic Uncle Sam's cavalry. Upon hear- 
ing his name called I sidled up to him, and 
opened my great coat that he might see my collar 
and learn that I too was enrolled in a great serv- 
ice. I remarked in a bantering way: "That 
name of yours proclaims you a German, does it 
not ?" "Oh no, Father, I was born in Ireland." 
"You are a Catholic then," I said. "Well, } T es, 
Father, I am a Catholic, but it is quite a little 
bit since I was in a church." "When were you 
at your duty last, ' ' I inquired. "A long time ago 
indeed," he replied. "When I 'listed, and went 
to the Crimean War, I bethink myself. I went to 
my duty. Then when the war was over I came 
to the States, and here I 'listed in the regulars, 
and when the Civil war broke out I 'listed once 
more and went to the front. I served all through 
the war, and got kind of careless, but I promise 
you I'll go to my duty pretty soon, for I'm get- 
ting to be a pretty old man now. ' ' His words 
were prophetic; for a few months after, he got 
the pneumonia. At the time of his illness, 
chancing to be on the stage, I visited him, and 
administered to him the last sacraments. Not 
long after he died. 

On the 21st of February I received from Tel- 

40 



FROM DAIXAS TO TKIXURIDE 

luride a summons to come across the range early 
the next morning, to attend a funeral of a miner 
named Flannigan, who had been killed at the 
Sheridan mine. The telegram stated that two 
horses would meet me at the Sheridan, which is in 
Marshall Basin. I mention this circumstance by- 
way of explanation, as we could ride our horses 
only to the Virginius mine, then go afoot to the top 
of the range, and down two or three miles to the 
Sheridan. I feared the trip, but there was no 
alternative. I had to cross the range as the 
stage had departed, and it was over fifty miles 
around the Snefnes range to Telluride. Fred 
Thornton was then at the hospital, fully re- 
covered from a fit of sickness, and he offered to 
accompany me on the journey. I resolved to 
take my vestments, that I might be enabled to 
say mass. We ordered two horses for three in 
the morning, which was an early hour for a trip 
in midwinter. We packed the vestments and 
set the alarm clock for three; but being at that 
time troubled with insomnia, I slept little. At 
two o'clock we arose, and Fred took a light 
breakfast. We were soon on our way to Mount 
Snefnes. The morning was clear, and the mer- 
cury recorded twenty below zero. The road to 
the Virginius mine was in tolerably good con- 
dition. Far up the canon, however, it was some- 
what dangerous on account of its closeness to the 
precipice, a false step, and horse and rider w 7 ould 
be hurled two thousand feet below. Almost on 
the apex of the range, in the SnefHes District, the 
Humbolt mine is situated. The mountains 
stretch away from it toward the south in the 
form of a vast amphitheatre until they reach 
Red Mountain, where they turn to the north, 

41 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

seeming to terminate in those giant peaks, that 
rise up to the east of Ouray. The eye may easily 
outline this sublime scene from Sneffles' highest 
point, trace the black curling smoke as it ascends 
from the smoke stacks at the Yankee Girl mine, 
and take in, at a glance, the whole country for 
miles around. Old Mount Abram, gray and dull 
colored from the heat and storms of thousands 
of years, towers above all his fellows, and appears 
but a rifle shot down to the Ouray toll road; yet 
it is many miles distant. 

The Humbolt is exposed to all the rigors of 
the winter storms on those lofty mountains. No 
trees or sheltering gulches break the force of the 
awful blizzards which sweep along those naked 
heights. To witness a snowslide within a short 
distance of the miners' bunkhouse is no rare oc- 
currence. Mr. M was the foreman of this 

mine, and prided himself on being nearer the 
spirit land than most men, the Humbolt being 
at an elevation of about 13,000 feet. He was 
a miner of long experience; and, under his di- 
rection, the mine rapidly developed into one of 
the largest producers of that district. Before the 
fall in the price of silver, this mine gave employ- 
ment to 180 men. A well-beaten trail connected 
the mine with Porter's. Even'' day long trains 
of burros might be seen moving up and down 
the trail, the former bringing in supplies and the 
latter carrying down the argentiferous treasures 
to Ouray. The storms were at times so severe 
that even the most hard}' miner dared not at- 
tempt a trip to town. On one side the route for 
a greater part of the way led along the edge of 
an embankment, while on the other, high cliffs 
extended to the summit of the range. During a 

42 



FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 

severe storm the incautious traveler is apt to lose 
the trail; and, wandering over the cliffs, runs the 
risk of being hurled to destruction. One day a 
Swede set out over this trail in a blinding snow 
storm. Losing his way, he wandered for some 
time among the cliffs, vainly endeavoring to find 
the trail. So filled was the air with thickly fall- 
ing snow that it became impossible for him to 
know the direction in which he was going. He 
walked off into the abyss, and fell down the 
jagged rocks for a distance of about five hundred 
feet. The rocks, being covered with frozen 
snow, afforded him no opportunity of clinging to 
the jutting crags; so that, when once in motion, 
he shot down with almost meteoric speed. He 
lay there for many hours suffering excruciating 
torments, and would have frozen to death had 
not some miners, who chanced to be passing by, 
beheld, far down in the gulch, in the white snow, 
a dark object which they made out to be a man. 
By using the greatest caution, and after much 
difficulty, they reached him. He was in a state 
of unconsciousness, his skull being fractured, 
and his body a bruised and bleeding mass. Call- 
ing to their aid some more help, the unfortunate 
man was taken to the sisters' hospital, where he 
died 'in a few days. 

The canon in the Sneffies' district is perhaps 
one of the grandest and most picturesque sights 
in Colorado. A few hundred yards from the en- 
trance is Ouray. Here also the canon to Red 
Mountain opens, cutting a mighty seam through 
the granite formation. Far down in those unex- 
plored depths, two noble streams dash along and 
commingle their waters in the suburbs of the city. 
This stream is called the Uncompaghre. As you 

43 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

swing around the turn on the way to Mount 
Sneffles, you behold to the right the bubbling 
stream rise from the rocks. Springs of hot water 
gush forth not two hundred yards from the swift 
current, the icy touch of which chills the marrow 
of one's bones. To the left, and far away up the 
heights, tall rocks, like the minarets of a Moslem 
temple, stand out in relief to the rough, serrated 
points and wooded plateaus that were strewn 
around when the earth was in course of eruption. 
Often on a summer's afternoon have I taken my 
glasses and watched the leader of a band of Rocky 
Mountain sheep, as he stood upon one of 
those high points keeping guard, while the others 
took their meal. It was the shepherd watching 
his flock, and there for hours he stood immovable, 
with his eye on the road below and the city of 
Ouray. These animals live near timber line, 
like the chamois of Switzerland, far from the 
haunts of man, and eat the small bunches of 
grass that shoot from the crevices of the rocks. 
They are very timid, and only an expert can come 
within rifle range of them. When closely pur- 
sued they will not hesitate a moment to jump 
from twenty-five to thirty feet down on the solid 
rock. Coyotes, wolves and eagles, as well as the 
banned sportsman, so prey upon them, that few 
bunches of them now remain. 

The canon is bold, grand and rugged from the 
beginning. At the opening are a few garden 
patches, on which, even at so great an altitude, a 
variety of vegetables may be raised. In summer 
the hillsides are banked with mountain flowers, 
not known by the inhabitants of the valley. The 
pine, spruce and poplar provide a cool shade in 
the summer heats. On either side of the stream 
u 



FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 

narrow gulches pierce this deep defile, from 
which issue crystal streams of cold water. The 
scene is impressive and the sound of the rushing 
waters, blended with the song of the wild bird, 
produces a melody which soothes and delights. 
The farther you move up the canon, the wilder 
and more sublime the scene becomes. Gradually 
the pine and the spruce disappear and you stand 
upon a desert of rock with here and there a lit- 
tle patch of grass kept alive in the scanty soil, 
washed in by the rain. At Porter's, there is a 
valley of a few acres surrounded by pines. Por- 
ter's was then and is yet, I believe, the terminus 
of the wagon road. Here is the celebrated 
Revenue Tunnel cut into the mountain, which 
rises to a height of over 12,500 feet. At this 
elevation is the Virginius mine, one of the rich- 
est silver properties in the world. The shaft was 
down about 1,100 feet, with tunnels in every 
hundred feet. The vein is a true fissure and it 
was presumed that it went down indefinitely. 
This tunnel was designed to cut the shaft of 
the Virginius at 2,000 feet or more and all the 
veins that lay in the course. Much expense was 
saved in this way, and ore was shipped with 
less inconvenience. It was the design of the 
owners, by moving down the boarding houses, 
and placing them on a level with Porter's, to 
diminish the dangers of snowslides. The whole' 
plant was to be worked by electricity, which was 
beginning to be used in mines as a matter of 
economy. I understand the tunnel has been 
completed to the satisfaction of the company, 
which will ship silver by the ton when the free 
coinage of the white metal becomes an accom- 
plished fact. While few accidents attended the 
45 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

construction of the tunnel, there was one in 
which I played a rather conspicuous part and at 
the early hour of two, one winter's morning. A 
telephone message reached me, announcing that 
three men had been seriously injured in a mining 
disaster, and were calling for the priest and the 
doctor. Doctor Rowan and myself, together with 
the undertaker and several packhorses, started 
for the scene of the accident. The road was in 
very bad shape, having been blocked for some 
time. By using great care we got through in the 
dark without injury, and found two men killed 
and one badly wounded. It appeared that three 
men, Robinson, Maloney and Big Paddy Burns 
were loading holes, before retiring from their 
shift, when an explosion occnrred. The two 
former were over the holes and Paddy had just 
put down a box of dynamite at the breast of the 
tunnel, when, without a moment's warning, the 
dynamite went off, decapitating Robinson and 
exposing his lungs to view. Maloney was struck 
over the eye by a piece of rock, which was forced 
through the skull, and his brains were oozing 
out. Big Paddy Burns, who was standing at 
Maloney 's side, was knocked down, receiving a 
shower of rock canister in the side of the head. 
He thought he was killed, and bellowed lustily 
for the priest. The men who were around gave 
him a stimulant to keep him alive, until the 
priest arrived. Paddj r , however, bewailed his 
sad fate, keeping up the monotonous cn r : "I'm 
dead, I'm dead. Why did I not die at home with 
my father ?" This cry reached my ears when I 
hurried in to see Paddy. I said, ' 'There is nothing 
the matter with you; come, no more of this." 
The poor fellow was seriously hurt, but the 

46 



FROM DAIXAS TO TELLURIDE 

strength of his voice showed that he was far from 
being dead. That night we removed him to the 
hospital, where he remained six months, during 
which time a splinter now and then worked its 
way out of the skull to the great amusement of 
the boys and the dismay of Paddy. Finally, he 
left the hospital and the mountains, too, and went 
back to the north of Ireland, where I trust the 
faith he kept so well in this country will grow 
with the years to come. 

Fred and myself arrived at Porter's safe and 
sound. Day was just breaking and a keen wind 
was sweeping down from the heights. From 
Porter's to the Virginius there is a burro trail, 
which is not wide enough for a horse, especially 
when going up a mountain, heavily loaded. 
Swaying from side to side and stumbling now and 
again, the animal must rest every few yards 
for the rarity of the atmosphere and the abrupt- 
ness of the ascent. This zigzag manner of moving 
makes the distance to the summit three times 
that of the airline. The snow was very deep. If 
the horse stepped off the well-beaten burro tracks 
he was sure to go down, carrying the rider with 
him, and once on the roll, it was hard to tell 
where he would stop. 

We got along fairly well, until we came within 
a mile of the Virginius. The higher we rose, the 
colder it grew, and a chilling blast came over 
the bare heights, filling the path with a fine 
searching snow. Fred was in the lead and 
carried the vestments. I had the chalice and other 
necessaries stowed away behind me on my saddle 
in a small hand grip. Fred came to a place 
which was full of drifted snow. Alighting, he 
tramped out a path for the horse as nearly as 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

possible in the old trail, and began to lead the 
animal over it. When nearly over the bad place, 
the horse stepped off the trail, went down to his 
neck, floundered a little, and lay there. We 
tried to make him rise, but he would not budge. 
At last we put a rope around his neck, which I 
pulled, Fred taking him by the tail, and we slid 
him over the danger spot and got him to his feet. 
Meanwhile my horse was eying the operation, 
as he stood quiet on the trail. Just as I ap- 
proached him, about to take the reins and lead 
him over, one of his fore feet slipped from the 
path on the up-hill side. I pulled him back, 
but as I pulled too hard he missed the trail and 
lopped over on the other side. He made a 
tremendous effort to regain his feet, threw his 
head high and fell backwards down the moun- 
tain. I let the reins go and he shot down over 
and over, breaking through the frozen snow and 
missing a large stump by about a foot. Down 
the mountain side he sped, crossing the trail 
two hundred yards from where I was and re- 
crossing it a hundred yards further down; he 
stopped about twenty feet from the trail, up to his 
neck in snow. He turned around and tried to 
come back to the trail, but after a few fruitless 
efforts to release himself lay down. Fred said to 
me, ' 'You might as well shoot him, you cannot 
get him back on the trail again, besides I think 
he is badly hurt." But I did not believe it and 
so we went down the mountain. The horse was 
uninjured, and neighed at our approach. We 
tramped the snow and moved him a short dis- 
tance; then putting a rope around his neck I got 
behind a tree and pulled, while Fred pushed, and 
by this means we brought the animal close to the 

48 



FROM DALLAS TO TKLLURIDE 

trail. Then, unsaddling him, we put the saddle 
blanket under his feet and finally hauled him on 
to the trail. There we tied him to a tree, and 
upon examining the grip found the chalice bent 
but not broken; whereupon, letting the horse 
loose, we turned him back to Porter's and we on 
foot went up to the Virginius. The other horse we 
drove before us with the vestments and our over- 
coats tied upon the saddle. We were glad to 
reach solid ground by eight o'clock that morning. 
We turned the horse over to the care of the 
packers, instructing them to take him back to 
Porter's, where they were to feed both horses un- 
til the next day, when we expected to return from 
Telluride. 

After a brief rest, we resumed our journey. 
Back of the Virginius the mountain rises at an 
angle of over forty-five degrees. Up, then, this 
almost inaccessible height, which at that season 
of the year was very slippery, were two heavy 
men climbing, heavily burdened and puffing like 
whales. We held on for dear life at every step 
on the glary mountain side. During the January 
thaw several men had come over the range, and, 
sinking in the snow, left great holes, which proved 
to be of much service to us, for by taking hold of 
the edges and putting our feet in the old tracks 
we were enabled to scramble along with some 
sense of security. From time to time we rested 
for a moment and calculated the distance we had 
to make. After much backing and filling, we 
arrived at the top, coming out on a desert of 
broken rocks where the antediluvian Titans 
played baseball with mighty boulders and, may- 
hap, employed the chain gang of the day in 
working out their fines. After another pause of 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

short duration for rest and inspection of our sur- 
roundings, we sat on the snow and looked down 
on the Sheridan mine, which seemed to be within 
a stone's throw; but the distance down that hill- 
side in the light atmosphere was deceiving. 
The story is told of a newcomer who fancied he 
ran the risk of drowning when he attempted to 
cross a little thread of water that lay in his path 
on the plains of Colorado. However that may 
be, the mine seemed to be much nearer to us 
than it really was. Here Fred began to groan 
and said he had cramps. He threw himself at 
full length on the snow and fairly screamed with 
pain. I rubbed him and gave him some relief. 
He was so exhausted that on the way down the 
mountain I had to shoulder the load and keep far 
ahead of him. Fasting as I was, how I longed 
to break off a piece of the frozen snow and cool 
my burning tongue and parched lips! The crust 
on the snow was not hard enough to hold me up, 
so again I picked my way in the old tracks, 
which the miners had made coming up the moun- 
tain; but they were too short on the down trip 
and particularly distressing for one who was 
much fatigued . We stopped at intervals to breathe 
and I coaxed and encouraged Fred to hold out, 
the Sheridan being near at hand. Thus step by 
step we plodded along until at last, ready to drop 
from fatigue, we arrived at the mine. 

We telephoned to Telluride that we would be 
on time for the funeral. Fred took some hot 
coffee, and we directed our course to Telluride. 
The horses were good and had sharp shoes, so 
there was little danger of slipping. I took the 
lead and did not spare the whip. Along the 
wall of the mountain, near the Sheridan mill, 

50 



FROM DALLAS TO TEIXURIDE 

the trail is very narrow and skirted by a prec- 
ipice. Unfortunately a burro train was coming 
up right at this spot. There must have been 
more than one hundred burros in the path- 
way. The driver was cursing and swearing, and 
a Scotch collie kept nipping the heels of the don- 
keys. How we were to pass, that was the problem. 
Burros will not leave the road when carrying a 
load and they move so mechanically and, it may 
be added, stupidly, that they crowd one into the 
ditch. Fred cautioned me and he kept on the 
inside. I did my best to follow him, but the 
burros pushed my horse over to the edge, and 
had I not sprung from the saddle, quickly backecl 
the animal to the edge and kept his fore feet well 
on the road, I should have been the principal, 
and not the witness, of a funeral. We escaped 
serious accident in the sequel, and came to the 
little valley in which is situated the city of Tel- 
luride. 

Again Fred was seized with the cramps. I was 
obliged to help him out of the saddle and lay him 
on the roadside. After hard rubbing I enabled 
him to rise and take to the saddle. At that time 
there was no church, Catholic or non- Catholic, 
there; the courthouse, which was a respectable 
building, was used for all kinds of meetings, and 
by everyone. Shows, lectures, dances, revival 
meetings, church fairs were all held in the temple 
of justice. I usually said mass at Mrs. Margow- 
ski's, but on state occasions I went to the court- 
house, and on this occasion the funeral services 
were performed there, the majority of those pres- 
ent being Cornish men. At that time few Amer- 
icans could get work in the Sheridan mine, which 
employed some three hundred men. The Cor- 

51 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

nish are fine looking fellows, with broad shoul- 
ders, of a stocky build and swaggering carriage. 
They had the reputation of being first-class 
miners, it may have been because in their native 
country they had so much experience in this line 
of occupation. There were hundreds of them in 
Telluride, where they practically ran the town. 
Lovers of good cheer, they spent their money 
freely, and fairly made the town howl during 
their all-night carousals. They turned out bj^ 
the hundred for the funeral and the little court- 
house was packed. I said mass and preached an 
appropriate discourse. After mass I took break- 
fast and by the time the friends of the deceased 
had taken a last look at the corpse I was ready 
to repair to the Lone Tree Cemetery, where we 
left all that was mortal of poor Flannigan. 

Returning, I said my office, and after dinner 
made some parochial visits to the few Catholics 
in Telluride and informed them that I should say 
mass next morning at Mrs. Margowski's. Toward 
evening I paid a visit to Mr. Ferdinand Kramer, 
a gentleman who is known to the world of 
literature under the nom de plume of "Credo." 
It is an appropriate designation for an uncom- 
promising Catholic, who is a ripe scholar, hard 
student and polished writer. The bent of his 
mind is philosophical, but no subject concerning 
man and his best interests is strange to Credo. 
His style of composition is clear, terse and ele- 
gant. Besides devoting himself to literary work, 
he has skilfully edited a weekly newspaper in the 
south-western country. The Colorado Catholic 
contains regular contributions from the facile pen 
of Mr. Kramer. A graduate of Cornell Uni- 
versity, and by profession a civil engineer, he has 



FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 

surveyed much of the San Juan country, and pos- 
sessing large interests in one of the great enter- 
prises of San Miguel County, he bids fair to be- 
come one of the wealthiest and most useful men 
in that section. Often before the morning star 
veiled its face in the light of the sun have I said 
mass in this gentleman's cabin at San Miguel, 
and just as often has he approached the sacred 
table to refresh himself with the bread of angels. 
Breakfast over, we sat together talking on liter- 
ary or religious subjects, while awaiting the 
sound of the Dallas-bound stage. 

Next morning the few Catholics of the town 
were promptly at hand and many of them received 
the blessed sacrament of the Eucharist. About 
nine Fred Thornton, who had slept most of the 
time since his arrival at Telluride, was up and 
ready for the home trip. We took our mounts 
and started for the Sheridan mine, upon reaching 
which our programme was to turn our horses 
back, walk up to the top of the range and then 
down to Porter's, where the other horses had 
been left the previous day. We arrived at the 
top of the range by one o'clock and ate the sand- 
wiches which the thoughtful Mrs. Margowski 
had put into our grip to help us on the way. 
We came to Porter's in good time and, mounting 
our horses, rode down the mountain to Ouray, 
which we reached early in the evening. 

As the reader may like to know something 
more of the companion of my trip, I shall add a 
few words about him. The following spring he 
went with his partner to work on some claims 
which they j ointly owned . It was about midsum- 
mer, and I happened to be at Silverton, having 
gone thither the previous Saturday for the Sun- 

53 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

day service. In the afternoon of that day I re- 
ceived word by telephone that Fred Thornton 
was dying of heart disease, and that I must make 
all haste to Ouray. I had just then one of the 
best bronchos in that country. The horse was 
Jack McMahon's and as I was thinking of buying 
him, the owner let me have him on trial. But he 
had a chronic saddle-sore on his back, which 
broke out from time to time, thus rendering him 
of little value to one who was in the saddle three 
days of the week. For all that Bill was a first- 
class stepper; he could trot, pace or run. I rode 
the animal from Rico in eight hours, stopping an 
hour at Ophir, and crossing two ranges of moun- 
tains. I had a heavy saddle, my vestments and 
overcoat. It was equal to a seventy-five mile 
ride on the level road. I let the horse go slowly 
for a time, until he got warmed up, then I gave t 
him a free rein, and he made Red Mountain in 
fifty minutes and Ouray in forty-five more. 
Warm and tired, the animal was full of go still, 
and I was forced to pull hard on the reins from 
Red Mountain to Ouray. My arms were tired 
and the horse's mouth was bleeding from his con- 
stant champing on the bit. 

I found Fred sitting up in the chair, but after 
a glance at him saw he was going rapidly. The 
blood in his face was congested, his lips were 
growing purple, and he began to exhibit signs of 
drowsiness. He raised his eyes, put out his cold 
hand and grasped mine, saying: "Father, you 
came in a hurry." I said, "Yes, Fred, I was 
bound to be here in time, if I had to come on the 
saddle without a horse." Fred smiled and said, 
"I am not long for this world, I believe I shall 
never see another sunrise." I could offer no 

54 



FROM DALLAS TO TELLURIDE 

word of encouragement to the dying man, so I 
told him to prepare for death and I administered 
to him the last rites of the church. The sisters 
repeated the prayers for the dying and in the 
hush of the midnight, his soul winged its flight 
to the better land. His body, with that of many 
others, lies mouldering in Ouray's cemetery, 
awaiting the final resurrection, when there will be 
no more break-neck rides or death-dealing snow- 
slides. 



5b 



FOURTH SKETCH 

FROM time to time I went into the mountains 
and held religious services at some cabin 
which was a centre of resort for the neighbor- 
hood. Here, on the long winter evenings, as well 
as Sundays, the people gathered, — the young to 
become acquainted with one another, and the old 
to exercise their ingenuity in arranging matches 
for their children and friends. The sagacious 
dame kept a watchful eye for the young man of 
steady habits, who chanced to possess the fee of a 
large, well-stocked ranch. Such an eligible catch 
won favor with the eager matron whose subtle 
strokes of diplomacy began with the regulation 
courtesy, the softest chair in the room and a 
pressing invitation to tea. It put one in mind of 
the old-fashioned quilting or corn-husking bee 
of half a century ago, to observe the ladj^'s 
strategy, and it would take such keen students of 
manners and customs as were the writers of the 
Spectato?' fitly to describe the delicate manoeuvres 
of the wary mother. 

In my parish, there were several of those 
centres where I used to say mass, teach the 
children Christian doctrine and, upon occasion, 
administer the sacraments, and not one of them 
was more attractive than that of Sim Noel, whose 
name tells his French descent. He lived on the 
top of the Divide between Dallas and Placerville, 
where, at an elevation of about 10,000 feet, 
he owned a ranch of five or six hundred acres. 
His log cabin stood close to the stage road, in 
the shelter of a little hill, and a stream of spring 
water softly murmured at the door-step, inviting 

56 




A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 



the passing cavalier to stop and let his broncho 
drink from the overflowing trough that was con- 
siderately set there. If he was given to soci- 
ability he spent a few moments in small talk 
with such members of the family as were en- 
gaged in out-door occupations. Sim kept what 
might be called a road-house and the ladies were 
skilled in preparing a good meal for the way- 
farer, — fresh milk, fresh eggs and fresh veal with 
rare vegetables from the root house, fresh at 
any season of the year — making the wayside inn a 
delectable place of refreshment for the most ex- 
acting traveler. In the summer the trout forced 
their way up the stream to the very door, and 
when crisped on the pan, constituted a palatable 
tidbit for the epicure. That Sim had cosmo- 
politan tendencies may be inferred from the cir- 
cumstance that one of his sons-in-law was an 
Irishman, another a Frenchman and a third an 
American; and that his ways were progressive, 
appeared from the fact that some of the girls of 
his family were expert rifle shots, standing in the 
front rank of the Ouray Rifle Club. 

A few miles from this place, and to the south- 
east, old Sneffles, with his flossy locks of purest 
white, stood grand, placid and serene as the 
summer sea in the sunlight. To the south, thous- 
ands of acres of fertile land stretched away, 
with pines of ample girth so distributed as to 
offer pleasing retreats for camping out. At this 
altitude it is unnecessary to irrigate the soil, the 
rainfall in the spring and the summer being co- 
pious, and wheat, oats, potatoes, timothy, with a 
variety of vegetables, are produced in great 
abundance. This favored region is a paradise 
for stock in summer and autumn. Through the 

57 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

openings of pine and spruce on the plateau, the 
grass in some places grows two feet high. The 
luxuriant vegetation, the different kinds of 
grasses, the flowers, the climbing vines, the rich 
soil, remind one of the tropics, but, the period of 
growth being very short, cereals, vegetables and 
fruits indigenous to the altitude, mature quickly. 
A warm night is as strange as snow in the Sa- 
hara desert, so you may rest comfortable un- 
der a pair of blankets the hottest night. To the 
east, this lofty tableland falls in undulating slopes 
to the valley of the Dallas. A stream of the 
same name, rising in the dense timber at the foot 
of Mount Sneffles on the north, drains the low- 
lands, forms a junction with the Uncompaghre 
and flowing on to Montrose, swells the volume of 
the river Grand. To the west, the land declines 
gently to the canon of the San Miguel, where, 
far below, the river San Miguel, with musical 
cadence, rushes on to join the waters that flow 
into the Pacific. To the south, at a distance of 
nine or ten miles Tellurideward, the country is 
rough, hilly, and not well adapted for cultivation, 
but there are many well-tilled valleys, and the 
adjoining hills provide a rich supply of fuel and 
grass. It was in this charming vicinity that now 
and then I pitched my tent, attended to the spir- 
itual wants of the scattered flock, and enjoyed 
Sim Noel's hospitality. It was in summer an 
agreeable place to spend a few days, but the cold 
in winter is so severe as to leave aching memories 
of the season. 

One summer Father S — k, of Chicago, came 
to Ouray. He was in search of mineral speci- 
mens, flowers, bugs, or any natural curiosities 
that might promote the study of science. Al- 

5S 



A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 

though a man of sixty-eight years, he braved 
the great altitudes and dense woods of south- 
western Colorado with all the alacrity of a young 
man, and he lost no opportunity of ministering 
to the religious needs of the Slavs and Scandina- 
vians in the mountains. Distinguished as a 
professor, scientist and polyglot, he was a zealous 
missionary, worthy of the days of the apostles. 
Chicago, notably St. Ignatius' College in that 
city owes no small debt of gratitude to the reverend 
scientist for the magnificent collection of miner- 
als, flora and insects which he made on his 
mountain trips. Upon mentioning the purpose 
of his visit I suggested an outing in the region 
I have tried to describe. Father S — k was 
pleased and grateful for the offer. I furnished 
the tent and horses, and we took with us rations 
for three days. I had a big black horse which 
had the habit of balking. He was also some- 
what foundered, and shied from time to time on 
mountain roads. Once I had a rather droll mis- 
adventure, while riding this animal under some 
trees. All of a sudden he sprang aside and left 
me, like Absalom, hanging to a branch, not by 
the hair, but by the hands. For the capricious 
animal I paid the snug sum of eighty dollars, 
and, upon the recommendation of a Christian 
gentleman. I pause a moment to remark, 
* 'What fools we mortals be!" So, one glorious 
morning, about the first of September, Father 
S — k, Father L — n, — a friend of no mean avoir- 
dupois, who was staying with me, — Bobby 
Burns, the cook, and myself set out on our expe- 
dition in the interests of religion and science. We 
thought at first that Sim Noel's place would be 
a convenient headquarters for our campaign, 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

but on reconsidering the matter, unanimously 
agreed that the proper thing was to camp out. We 
had our coats, blankets and guns, — in a word, a 
commissariat, fit for a descent on Cuba. The first 
fifteen miles of the journey we covered without 
an accident and arrived at the little town of 
Ridgeway, which lies at the junction of the Rio 
Grande Southern and the Ouray branch from 
Montrose. The town enjoyed stirring times 
while the railroad was in process of construction 
to Telluride, but when the latter was completed, 
the depreciation in the value of silver made 
money scarce and Ridgeway dull. There were 
few Catholics in the place, but for all that we 
erected a neat little church. I may say here 
that I put in some days of as hard work on that 
little edifice, as well as on one at the neighboring 
town of Ironton, as I ever did on Iowa's broad 
prairies, standing before the canvas of a Marsh 
harvester or beating out the share of a breaking- 
plow. 

As you skirt the foot hills a mile out from 
Ridgeway, the road takes a sharp turn into the 
mountains and the ascent is quite precipitous. I 
had a pretty good load on the express wagon, the 
horse hitched up with the black was light but 
gritty, and I took a run at the hill. Just as I got 
within a few feet of the top the black horse took 
it into his head to balk, stopped and began to 
back down. I whipped, the horse kicked and 
the reverend Fathers shouted and besought me to 
let them out; but I would not accede to their 
wishes and they were afraid to jump, as one was 
old and the other a heavy-weight. The horse 
kept letting the wagon down, and I had great 
trouble to keep the road without tipping over. 



A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 

At last I allowed my companions to alight, and 
procuring a stout stick, made the refractory 
black go up the hill on the jump. It was two in 
the afternoon when we chose a camping ground, 
expecting to move on later in the day. Having 
fed the horses and taken our lunch, with rifle in 
hand I strolled forth in search of a deer, while 
Father I, — n took a shotgun and Sam, the Irish 
setter, and went gunning for grouse. Father 
S — k was turning over logs, looking for bugs, 
and Bobby Burns was making preparations to 
dine the clergy in the evening. Plunging into 
the dense growth of pines I advanced far down 
the slope for an hour or more, until the sun 
warned me that it was time to retrace my steps; 
so I swung around in a half circle, expecting to 
make camp before dark. Suddenly I heard two 
or three deer rushing through the woods at a 
high rate of speed, but I could see none. I 
thought of the bears which were quite numerous 
in the dark glens and thick underbrush, but I 
must confess I had no desire to meet them just 
then. 

Bears are still numerous in some parts of Colo- 
rado and a person has a feeling of loneliness, if not 
dread, when in the thick timber, deep canons, or 
on the lonely trails most likely to be frequented by 
those savage animals. Several years ago a miner 
going over the trail between Rico and Durango 
had an encounter with a bear, which deserves 
mention in these sketches. The miner was un- 
armed and pursuing his way over the short cuts 
and trails which lead hither and thither from the 
main road. He had not even so much as a jack- 
knife or a good stick with which he might defend 
himself. Leaving the main road to shorten his 

61 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

way, he plunged down the gulches over the wooded 
hills and through the dense copse of underbrush, 
following a cattle path or deer trail. Coming to 
one of those scrub-oak hills he found himself in 
a small park in the midst of the thicket. What 
was his horror on looking around, when he be- 
held a large cinnamon bear! There she stood 
with her two cubs. For a moment the man was 
seized with fright and before he could realize his 
situation, she turned and, rising on her hind feet, 
came toward him with open jaws and outstretched 
paws. There was no opportunity to run, for 
she began the fight at once. He was a power- 
fully built man but had only muscle and a thinly 
clad body to oppose claws four or five inches 
long and teeth which could easily crush the arm 
of a giant. For a few moments the miner par- 
ried the blows as best he could, but always with 
the loss of a part of his clothing, which was torn 
away by the long claws of the bear. Finally, 
having lacerated his arms and breast, with one 
fell stroke she opened his scalp to the back of his 
neck, knocking him down and placing her huge 
paws on his breast ready to devour him. In- 
stinctively she turned to look for her cubs and as 
they were not in sight, left her bleeding victim 
and hastened in the direction they had taken. 
The miner fainted. How long he la} 7 there he 
knew not. At last he came to, and to his horror 
heard the bear crushing through the brush at no 
great distance. Gathering his remaining 
strength and staggering from his great loss of 
blood, he dragged himself to his feet and fled 
along the trail with all the haste he could make. 
He at length reached a farm house and was taken 
at once to Durango, where the ph}~sician sewed 

62 



A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 

up his torn scalp and body. After many months 
he got well and still lives. 

The next morning four stalwart hunters left 
Durango to visit Mrs. Bruin. They had scarcely 
entered her dominions when they espied her on 
a little hillside; she, too, was on the alert and saw 
them. Without a moment's hesitation she came 
down to meet them. The cubs followed her, but, 
mother-like, she turned round and pushed them 
back with her nose. One of the cubs still perse- 
vered in coming, and going back she struck him 
on the head with her open paw and sent him 
back up the hill howling. The hunters waited 
until she got within fifty yards and then poured 
into her big body a deadly volley which laid her 
low. The cubs were treated in the same manner 
as their mother and the boys returned to town 
proud of their trophies. 

Meanwhile the darkness was closing around 
me, and I found I was lost. Deer trails and 
cattle trails crossed and recrossed one another, 
so that I could not take my bearings. After 
groping to and fro in a place that, to my disturbed 
fancy, seemed not unlike the fathomless abyss of 
Schiller's Diver, I was delighted when I came to 
a little opening, and, standing upon a high rock, 
fired off my rifle three times at intervals of about 
three minutes and waited for an answer. After 
the third report I caught to the left, and in the 
opposite direction from which I had been mov- 
ing, the dull sound of a shotgun; and in a few 
minutes was in camp. Bobby was not there and 
my two clerical friends had retired for the night, 
each having chosen a pine tree as a back stop. 
This novel kind of couch they adopted as no 
tent had been put up. The fire was burning low 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

and I replenished it so that I might have some 
warm supper. Having refreshed the inner man I 
turned in, or rather out, and wrapped in my ulster 
and blanket, supported my back against a tree. 
I tried to sleep, but sleep under such circumstances 
was not easy. The night turned bitterly cold and 
every little while I arose, dragged a few logs to 
the fire, and cheered up my companions with the 
blaze, which, owing to their remote position un- 
der the trees, imparted to them more light than 
warmth. Father S — k complained of having 
chills, and Father L, — n could stand the cold no 
longer, so I got up once more and found every- 
thing covered with a thick hoar frost. Upon in- 
specting the contents of the wagon I discovered 
some more clothes, which I distributed among my 
companions and piled more wood on the fire. I 
decanted into a little pail some wine which we 
had taken for an emergency and placed the pail 
on the fire. It did not take long to boil, and 
pouring out a liberal dose of the medicine into a 
tin cup, I approached Father S — k, who was in 
a shivering condition, and at the point of a gun 
commanded him to drink it down. Father L — n 
was obliged to submit to the same imperious 
treatment, and then the medicineman bethought 
himself that he, too, was on the point of a chill. 
It is needless to say that we all felt better for the 
seasonable decoction; but sleep for the night had 
fled from our eyes, and we sat around the fire, 
while Father S — k indulged in long and divert- 
ing accounts of his scientific explorations. 

With the dawn Bobby appeared on the scene 
and proceeded to get breakfast. He explained 
his absence by saying that he had gone to a 
logging camp a mile away, and finding good quar- 



A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 

ters there, remained over night. After breakfast 
we resolved to decamp. We could not find 
Father L, — n's Sunday coat, a fine broadcloth, 
and looked everything over and over, but to 
no purpose. We concluded that it had been lost 
the previous day; so, jumping on one of the horses, 
I rode back a distance of three miles to the main 
road, but found no coat. The Fathers had in the 
meantime searched the camp again and again, and 
when they beheld me on my return empty handed, 
they seemed to be quite disappointed. I drew in 
my horse, and facing them cried out, ' 'No coat' ' ; 
just then I noticed that Father S — k looked quite 
bulky and I inquired, "Father, how many coats 
have you on?' ' "Of course only my own," he re- 
plied. I sprang from the horse and going up to 
him discovered to my surprise that he was wear- 
ing three coats, one of which, upon examination, 
proved to be the Sunday broadcloth. We were 
all well pleased and had a good laugh at Father 
S — k. Having cleared up the camp, we departed 
on the journey home and reached Ouray that 
evening, deerless, grouseless, but not bugless, 
for Father S — k carried back with him a fair sup- 
ply of beetles and also some mineral specimens. 

A few weeks after our excursion I received a 
sick call to the head of Turkey Creek, which is 
all of fifty-five miles from Ouray. The message 
came in the early evening, and I set out on horse- 
back with the messenger. L,ong before we 
reached the summit of the divide, darkness had 
set in, and as we approached Sim Noel's a north 
wind, accompanied by a drenching rain, swept 
over the treeless hills that embrace the creek. 
The lightning played on the hills and sent 
through the low drifting clouds intermittent 

65 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

flashes of brightness which illumined the inky- 
darkness of our way. From Noel's to Placer- 
ville the road is down hill for fourteen miles. 
The rain came down with full force, and in some 
places the horses could scarcely keep their feet. 
Our progress therefore was slow, and it must have 
been after eleven o'clock when we reached Placer- 
ville. We remained at the hotel for an hour, fed 
our horses and then resumed our journey up the 
Miguel to the mouth of Turkey Creek. The 
rain was still falling, but not so heavily as 
to make it uncomfortable in the saddle. The 
clouds were breaking and drifting in leaden 
banks, and now and then showers beat into our 
faces. The wagon road up the creek is a miser- 
able affair, and at that time it was washed out and 
cut up by the rain of the past month. Our 
jaded beasts were permitted to have their own 
way, so for fully eight miles we advanced very 
slowly. Time and again the horses, unable to 
proceed, stood and panted. About two in the 
morning the rain began to come down again in 
torrents. Fortunately being near an old mining 
camp at the head of the creek, where there was 
a village of empty houses, we dismounted and 
led our horses into one of the vacant dwellings. 
Our mackintoshes had kept us dry and excepting 
our knees, we were in fairly good trim. Lying 
down in a corner of the cabin we went to sleep, 
exhausted from our long ride, and when we woke 
it was broad daylight. We led out our horses 
and let them eat of the long grass which grew 
there, and then mounting, we hastened to the sick 
man. The head of Turkey Creek meant, I ascer- 
tained, a vast area of country, for it was noon 
when we drew up at a cabin not far from the 

66 



A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 

TJnaweep. The country which we had traversed 
was new to me and my wonder was excited at 
the rich soil, heavy grasses and bountiful supply 
of streams and timber which characterized it. 
Deer were very plentiful and many coveys of 
grouse were visible on the trail. 

We found the sick man in an advanced stage 
of consumption and after a series of fresh hem- 
orrhages; but although in his last moments, he 
was cheerful and happy. He had come from 
New York to the west; and to regain his health, 
plunged into the very depths of the pine forest, 
the odorous balsam of which is beneficial to those 
who have weak lungs. But he came too late, as 
was evident from his emaciated condition, and he 
had but a short time on earth. His ardent 
desire was to live long enough to return east and 
see his mother. He spoke of death and the here- 
after with a loftier cheerfulness and calmness 
than Plato's master, and while lamenting the 
separation from his mother, which he knew was 
near at hand, he prayed earnestly that his 
Heavenly Father would grant him the happiness 
of seeing her once more. After my arrival he 
grew rapidly better and became even more ani- 
mated, which was no doubt due to the grace of 
the last sacraments of the church. The young 
man had every comfort which money could pro- 
cure, — a servant to wait on him, a choice assort- 
ment of books, musical instruments and even a 
kodak. The servant man was a queer customer. 
His master called him "Shinny," and the nick- 
name may have found some authority for 
its use in the singular character of the man; but 
he was faithful and thoughtful for the invalid, 
for whom he considered nothing too good. From 

67 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

the brook, which was close by the cabin, he caught 
the trout which he cooked with good taste; he 
scoured the woods for young grouse and sought 
far and wide everything that was likely to give 
an appetite to the sick man. In his search for 
game his daily companion was a hairless Mexican 
dog , whose bare state caused the burros to lift up 
their philosophical winkers in admiration. On one 
occasion Shinny tracked a deer and followed him 
over a ridge through the thick oak brush, but of 
course the fleet animal got away from the unso- 
phisticated hunter, and the sportsman returned 
home, disgusted. But he acquired some experi- 
ence, for that night he tossed and scratched con- 
tinually. In the morning he found himself cov- 
ered with wood- ticks; it was a case where the 
biter gets bitten, and indeed it is no easy task to 
get rid of those little insects that burrow deep 
into the flesh. Shinny's speech had the cockney 
peculiarity, as he never sounded, not the h, but 
the r, in his words when it was proper to do so, 
as he himself said he was a gentleman from 
Boston, and presumably, therefore, a person of 
culture. He also possessed the not uncommon 
ability of talking on a subject of which he knew T 
little if anything, and his bump of curiosity was 
so well developed that it did not take him long to 
learn something of the history of everyone he 
met. In the pursuit of knowledge, however, 
like persons of his prying quality, he sometimes 
encountered laughable rebuffs. His master told 
me that a stranger who rode on the train between 
Kansas City and Durango, with Shinny and him- 
self, got even with the former, who had his eyes 
and ears open all along the route and was swal- 
lowing in everything he heard and saw. Having 






A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 

been bred in a great city, his ideas of the country 
and agricultural arts were like Horace Greeley's 
knowledge of farming. While passing through 
the prairies he saw many stacks of wheat, of 
which he knew nothing, so he applied for infor- 
mation to the stranger. He was to the soil born 
and dilating on the subject of wheat raising, ex- 
plained minutely everything connected with it, 
from the time the seed went into the ground 
until the consumer bought the loaf of bread. 
The gentleman also descanted upon oats, barley, 
potatoes, in fact everything that grew, to the 
child-like delight of Shinny, who, when the train 
reached Durango, saw a big Navajo Indian 
standing on the platform. This was a reve- 
lation to him. The strange being was arrayed 
in a calico dress of many colors, his shirt waist 
was trimmed in beads and shells, his hair in a 
knot of braid fell over his shoulders, and his 
trousers had various stripes, while on his head 
rested a large Mexican hat with a leather strap 
for a band, and flung in a careless manner over 
his left shoulder was a beautiful blanket. He 
was talking to a white man and was greatly 
worked up over something. Shinny was all on 
fire to know who he was, so although his oblig- 
ing companion was helping the sick man with his 
baggage, the man from Boston could not restrain 
his curiosity, but running up cried out, ' 'Tell me, 
sir, who is that? What countryman is he? 
Where does he come from?" The stockman 
turned quickly around and replied: "I should 
judge from his general get up and all he has to 
say, that he is a gentleman from Boston." The 
crest-fallen Shinny had no more to say that day. 
I remained with the sick man until ten o'clock 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

the next day and then went by West Dolores 
to Rico, where I said mass the following Sunday. 
I organized a committee of Catholics and took 
suitable steps for the construction of a church, 
which materialized under the supervision of my 
successors. 

Next day I started from Rico to Ouray by way 
of Trout L,ake, w r hich is a romantic sheet of 
water. Nestled in the bosom of mountains of 
solid rock, it teems with mountain trout, and is an 
ideal spot for the fisherman who has not the pa- 
tience to sit on a log for hours and w r ait for a 
bite. It is also the source of the power used in 
some of the adjacent mines. Not many miles to 
the west is the famous Mount Wilson, the shin- 
ing guide to many a lone traveler on the moun- 
tain trail. 

Following the old trail, which worms its way 
from Trout I,ake to Ophir, I came out in a little 
canon, at the head of which is Ophir camp. A 
stream of clear water, wmich forms a junction 
with the San Miguel a short distance below, 
rushes along at a rapid rate. At this point the 
spectator beholds one of the grandest feats of en- 
gineering in the state on the Rio Grande South- 
ern. To the ordinary layman, the impossible 
would confronthimin the construction of this aerial 
line of travel. Like a serpent, wriggling along 
these mighty walls of granite, or stealing cautious- 
ly over a trestle work far above the ground, the 
iron horse may be seen day after day making its 
way to Ridgeway to deliver mineral and passen- 
gers on the way to Denver and the east. A short 
distance higher up the town of Ophir is situated, 
rich in auriferous ores, and containing some of 
the most valuable mines in the whole country. 

70 



A SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CENTER 

Time and money will make this forgotten camp 
one of the best in the southwest. A hotel and 
livery stable, with a few neat cottages dotting the 
hillsides around, constitute the town. Here I 
took dinner, rested my broncho for an hour, and 
speeding homeward, jumped from the saddle in 
Ouray that evening, after a journey of over fifty 
miles. 

The following November I received from the 
mother of the young man of whom I have 
spoken a letter thanking me, at the request of 
her son, for the little acts of kindness I had 
shown him, and informing me that two weeks 
before he had passed to the great beyond. Per- 
haps she retained in her service the faithful 
Shinny to lighten the burden it pleased God to 
put upon her, and that he recounts to her in his 
own chatty way the many strange things which 
he saw and heard in the land of mountains and 
plains, 



71 



FIFTH SKETCH 

WE had a literary society during the winter 
months in Ouray. The society was small; 
so much the better, perhaps, for individ- 
uality of character is often lost in big societies, 
but the few members who were seriously given 
to self-improvement have attained distinction. 
The aim of the association was practical, and 
questions — moral, social and economical — occa- 
sioned lively debate. While the speculative was 
not ignored, the main purpose was to teach 
how to do the right thing at the right time, and 
educate the members to be useful. The pro- 
ceedings of the meetings, which were held once 
a week, were orderly, and little time was spent 
on the minutes of the previous meetings or per- 
sonal explanations, or wasted in mere rhetorical 
display. It was in a word a school of sense, not 
of show. 

At that time the Irish Land League under the 
eminent but ill-starred Parnell engaged the at- 
tention of Europe and America. I had been 
more or less identified with the Irish cause from 
a boy, and was deeply interested in the plans 
that were devised by intelligent and patriotic 
sons of Ireland to procure home rule, national 
independence and, consequently, prosperity for the 
land of my ancestors. To prove my sympatlry 
with the aspirations of the home-rulers, I occa- 
sionally delivered a lecture relating to that sub- 
ject; sometimes I spoke on other topics which 
pleased iny fancy, while promoting the well-be- 
ing of our association. 

The members of the society prepared for a 
grand celebration of Patrick's Day, and one of 



CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 

the features of the commemoration was a lecture 
which I was to give on the land question in Ire- 
land. There was to be a play, too, and many 
beautiful recitations, ranging from Shamus 
O'Brien to Erin's Flag, were designed to add 
variety and enthusiasm to the entertainment. 
In March the snow is abundant in the San Juan, 
and during this special month of Boreas some of 
the fiercest storms and most destructive snow- 
slides visit this region. For Ireland's national 
feast great preparations were under way, and the 
expectation was that the festivities would attract 
large numbers. The evening of the sixteenth 
the sun went down behind hoary Sneffles in dark, 
heavy clouds, which boded no good for Patrick's 
Day in the morning. By midnight the snow was 
falling gently and the weather indications were 
that a great storm was impending. About 2:30 
in the morning the door-bell rang violently, and 
going to the door I learned that there was an 
urgent sick call for me from Silverton. The 
messenger had left Silverton the previous night 
at ten o'clock and driven a team hitched to a 
sleigh over the range. There was very little 
danger then,' but with this new storm fast ap- 
proaching, the fresh snow would slide over the 
hard surface of the old and bear destruc- 
tion in its path. I enquired who was sick, 
and when the reply came I knew that the 
doom of the sick man was sealed, for he 
had been a hard and constant drinker, and now 
pneumonia had a firm hold of him. It was the 
opinion of his friends that he was dying, and he 
called for the priest, desiring to receive the last 
sacraments of the church. 

The sick man was young, bright, clever, a 
73 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

hustler and money-maker. When I became ac- 
quainted with him he was recovering from one 
of those periodical sprees which blast life and 
bring so many to an early grave. He was mar- 
ried, and his wife was a convert to Catholicity. 
She was one of those confiding creatures, whose 
heart and soul find in holy church and her con- 
soling doctrines the peace which the world can- 
not give. But he was of the class, unhappily 
too large, who, fascinated by the fashion of the 
world, cast to the winds the practices of religion 
and outrun the most abandoned in the race of 
sensuality. Strong drink, evil companions, mem- 
bership in societies condemned by the church, 
neglect of the duties which make the true man, 
wrought his ruin. After a vain effort to reform 
her dissipated husband, extending over a period 
of three years, his patient wife was obliged to 
leave him and seek safety with her parents. I 
will not dwell upon the harrowing story of a 
broken heart, but leave to the judgment record 
of the last day the revelation which I refrain 
from making 

The messenger told me that, as his horses were 
tired, he must let them rest until six o'clock, 
when we should set out for Silverton. I slept no 
more that night, and I was satisfied that I could 
not deliver my promised lecture that evening. I 
got up at five, said mass, and requested a brother 
priest who was my visitor, to excuse me to 
the audience in the evening and make a short 
address for me. At six o'clock sharp, we were 
in readiness to start for Silverton, a terrific drive 
for one team with a heavy sleigh and a badly 
drifted road. At Bear Creek Falls, the toll 
gatherer, who had been there for years, came 

74 



CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 

out to take our tickets, and warned us that we 
ran the risk of being lost in a slide or in the 
blinding storm which was advancing apace. At 
any moment we might plunge over a precipice on 
the narrow mountain pass. My companion 
would not turn back, as living in Ouray and 
boarding a team were expensive, so, despite the 
difficulties of the situation, he preferred to make 
Silverton. I was just as anxious to attend the 
poor fellow who awaited my coming. Accord- 
ingly, we continued on our way. Bear Creek 
Falls was fringed from top to bottom with a deli- 
cate embroidery of snow which clung to bridge 
and rock and shrub, mantling the mountain 
sides for hundreds of feet down. It is one of the 
most beautiful water-falls in Colorado. We has- 
tened on our journey without getting out of the 
sleigh, until we came within half a mile of the 
second bridge, where we were compelled to 
alight and shovel snow. The spot is one of 
tragic memories. The preceding fall Ashenfelter 
lost a team, wagon and a load of merchandise 
at this place. Coming up a little rise in the road 
the collar choked one of his horses, which fell, 
dragging the other horse toward and over the 
precipice. The driver saved himself in the nick 
of time by jumping from the wagon in the di- 
rection of the wall; but the outfit went down 
2,000 feet. A few hundred yards further on, 
in the bottom of the creek, lay two dead horses, 
their necks broken in the mad plunge. There 
were some other dangerous places in the road, 
where we might be caught in slides. Coming to 
the first of these spots, we were pleased to find 
that the snow had not come down, and that it 
was not very deep on the incline. About a year 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

before I had been nearly caught right here; 
moreover, large chunks were breaking loose 
above and gathering in volume as they rolled 
down, so I became rather nervous. As I sat in 
the saddle viewing these suspicious advance 
guards, a great mass became detached above, and 
like a flash carried everything before it. It was 
a close call. When we came to Mother Cline — 
strange name indeed for a snowslide — we found 
the passage safe. I thought for a moment of 
Mother Cary's chickens as applied by sailors to 
the sea birds, which come on board ships and are 
the sure harbingers of a storm; but I hoped that 
the association of ideas, connected with the name 
Mother Cline, would have no significance for us. 
This famous snowslide had come down some 
time before and bore everything away in its track, 
recoiling from the bottom of the gulch and break- 
ing off the trees on the mountain side for 200 
feet. The snow was from sixty to seventy 
feet deep on the road-bed and in the gulch, 
and the mass of wrecked matter was a conglom- 
eration of broken trees and huge boulders, some 
of which weighed from two to three tons. As 
long as the weather was cold a team could readily 
cross on the top of the slide, but when the 
snow melted the county was obliged to cut a 
tunnel, which was one of the wonders of the 
Ouray toll road that summer. It was 580 
feet long, and high enough for the Concord 
stage with its six horses to pass through. By 
late fall the roof was thawed out, but some of 
the walls remained standing for two years. On 
our arrival at Ironton we permitted the horses to 
take a short rest, and meanwhile called on Paddy 
Commins to ascertain the state of the flock, after 

76 




The Snow Tunned on Ouray Road 



CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 

which we proceeded to Red Mountain. As we 
approached the greater altitude the storm almost 
blinded us, and it was difficult to keep the road. 
Above the Yankee Girl mine we met a sleigh 
coming from Silverton, and the men who were 
in it informed us that the sick man was dead. I 
at once changed sleighs and started back for 
Ouray. We stopped at Ironton for dinner at 
Paddy Commins.' Paddy was a character in his 
way, and a zealous coadjutor of mine in my mis- 
sionary labors. He was a grown man at that 
period, which constitutes an epoch in Irish his- 
tory, viz. : the night of the Big Wind, and passed 
through the famine barely with his life. Many 
a time he spoke of the distress and hardship of 
those trying days, when men ate grass on the 
roadside and gaunt starvation stalked through 
the land. Tired of working at starvation wages 
on the public works that had been started by an 
alien government for the relief of the starving 
Irish, Paddy crossed the British Channel, and for 
forty years in England carried the hod. On the 
death of his wife he came to this country, and at 
the age of eighty, when I got acquainted with 
him, he was able to do a better day's work than 
many young men in the full flush of health. He 
took pride in telling the boys that when he came 
to Ironton the only apparel he had in the world 
was a suit of soldier's clothes. He was a strict 
temperance man, and would not allow a drop of 
liquor to be brought into his cabin. In the 
course of his travels he had acquired the knowl- 
edge of the cobbler's art, and could repair the 
men's boots and shoes to the queen's taste. He 
owned two handsome little houses, which he 
rented at a good figure, and I have no doubt he 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

had more than one double eagle stored away in 
the traditional stocking. When the boys chaffed 
or worsted him in argument he would close the 
debate by saying: "Give me no more of your 
after clap." Paddy was deeply attached to his 
church, which he had grace enough to love more 
than anything earthly, and he had far more of 
the ecclesiastical spirit than many great scholars. 
He took a lively concern in every project that 
looked to the spread of religion, and gave a help- 
ing hand to every good work. Many a hungry 
man found a substantial meal in the patriarch's 
cabin. He was sexton and general utility man 
in the little parish at Ironton, where, in my ab- 
sence, he watched over the flock and kept a rec- 
ord of whatever it was useful for me to know. 
He still lives, a fine specimen of an honest old 
man. 

After dining at Paddy's, and wishing him 
many happy years and many returns of Patrick's 
Day in the morning, the day he was born in the 
land beyond the sea, I set out for Ouray in one 
of the most desperate storms of snow and wind I 
ever faced. I have been caught in a blizzard in 
all its prairie tantrums and stood it for ten hours 
at a time, when the cold was so bitter as almost 
to freeze a man to death, but I never experienced 
a storm which for severity and fierceness equaled 
that mountain maelstrom of the canon. There 
was not a sense that did not have its appropriate 
scourge in that furious cyclone or whirlwind; and 
so thick and dense was the snow that it was im- 
possible at times for the horses to move. We 
got out of the sleighs, waded hip deep through 
the soft snow and felt for the road in broad day- 
light, creeping along the wall to be certain that 

78 



CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 

we were not rushing headlong into the precipice. 
After four hours of stumbling, falling in the snow 
and digging a way for the horses, and when we 
had almost given up the hope of ever coming out 
alive, we appeared in Ouray at five in the 
evening and celebrated Patrick's Day, or rather 
night, as it had never before been celebrated. 
There was a large audience awaiting the big pro- 
gramme, and the skillful performance of the play, 
which represented Ouray's best histrionic and 
musical talent, compensated for any shortcomings 
in the lecture of the wornout traveler. The play 
was Sheridan's masterpiece, "The School for 
Scandal," and relieved the tragic character of 
the lecture by its light, comic vein. It was strange 
to see such a play, and one with such a name, 
rendered far up in nature's mountain theatre. It 
is sufficient to say that the whole entertainment 
was received with enthusiastic favor, and that it 
was a genuine Patrick's Day celebration. Let 
the Irishman be ever so far away, when Patrick's 
Day arrives, his heart, untrammeled, returns to the 
home of the venerable Granuaile and the mem- 
ories associated with Ireland's patron saint, con- 
cerning whose work the following quaint ballad 
was composed, perhaps, by one of the ancient 
bards, and translated by some Irish scholar: 

Ye offspring of Seth of the ancient belief, 
Old Granu's true sons by adoption, 
These lines most sincere I commit to your care 
For perusal and also instruction, 
Concerning that great and apostolic man, 
The glorious St. Patrick, you shall understand, 
Who banished idolatry out of our land, 
Made Erin to blaze with true zeal and devotion, 
He left us the happiest isle in the ocean, 
And Patrick's Day in the morning. 

79 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

When he came to our shore 

Our land was spread o'er 

With witchcraft and dark necromancy ; 

Deluged, the scribe says, 

By such gross, evil ways, 

As was pleasing to Beelzebub's fancy. 

This champion of Christ did all magic expel, 

Those imps of perdition he did them repel, 

Their worship he stopped and their idols, they fell. 

Our Savior's bless'd name was praised through" the nation, 

The cross, it was held in profound veneration, 

And Erin complied with the sign of salvation, 

And Patrick's Day in the' morning. 

The peer and the peasant, the prince, I declare, 

To the font of baptism, they all did repair; 

St. Patrick, he freed them from satan's great snare, 

He showed them the path that led to Mount Sion, 

The manner to live and the way for to die in, 

And none would be lost who were patronized by him, 

And Patrick's Day in the morning. 

Fatigued by great labors and hardships, 'tis true, 
And aged one hundred, likewise twenty-two, 
On the seventeenth of March he bid them adieu; 
His soul took its flight to the mansions of glory, 
Where fame still records it in sacred history, 
For divesting our island of serpent and Tory. 
He left us the happiest spot in the ocean, 
And Patrick's Day in the morning. 

And, now for to end those few lines I have penned, 

Oh! Blessed St. Patrick, remember 

How thy people did stand 

For thy faith in this land, 

Tho' distressed, like the birds in December. 

It is now on the verge of the eight hundredth year, 

We've supported thy land through troubles and fear, 

And stood by the doctrine you planted so dear, 

In spite of seduction, oppression or killing, 

To this present day we still have five million, 

Who are always both active and ready and willing 

To aid your just cause in the morning. 

While the versification of this ballad may vio- 
late the rules of poetical composition, the senti- 



CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 

ment is so good that it has been thought not 
amiss to embalm it in a sketch of a Patrick's Day 
celebration. It is not unlikely that it is one of 
the ballads which were more common in Ireland 
fifty years ago than to-day. It possesses a de- 
licious combination of piety and humor. 

That spring, pneumonia was prevalent in the 
San Juan, and many of the boys crossed the 
range for the last time. Deaths and funerals 
became so common that I was brought into fre- 
quent communication at the church services with 
non- Catholics, with the result that some of those 
who afterwards came to the hospital ill were 
converted through the kindly admonitions of the 
never-tiring sisters. Indefatigable workers and 
wholly devoted to their vocation of sacrifice, they 
were constantly in the service of their patients, 
for the spiritual and physical welfare of whom 
they considered no fatigue great, no vigil long. 
True sisters of charity, they won the love of all. 
Many a hardened sinner who might have scorned 
the advice of even dear friends, hearkened to the 
counsel of the sisters and at the eleventh hour 
were reconciled to God; there were not a few 
who rose reformed from a sick pallet, and to this 
day thank their gentle nurses for the spiritual and 
corporal works of mercy which were performed 
in their behalf. Of this class were two brothers 
from Missouri, who had been working at the 
mines. One of them was taken ill and for four 
or five days struggled between life and death. 
The sister who was in attendance at his sick bed, 
seeing that the end was near, spoke to him of 
the necessity of preparing for the life to come. 
She told him that he must be baptized if he 
wished to enter the kingdom of heaven and be 

81 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

instructed in the principal mysteries of religion. 
The good words of the teacher did not fall on 
incredulous ears; the young man heard the voice 
of the spirit and did not harden his heart. The 
priest came to him and he received the sacra- 
ments with edifying dispositions and died a 
saintly death. His remains were followed to the 
cemetery by a large number of miners, and his 
broken-hearted brother, as he stood bareheaded 
at the foot of the grave, was seized by a congest- 
ive chill, which rendered his immediate removal 
to the hospital imperative. The doctor was sum- 
moned at once and pronounced the case pneu- 
monia. The usual remedies were applied, and 
the sisters did everything in their power to save 
his life. The first night of his illness, he became 
delirious and his constant cry was: "I want to 
become a Christian; baptize me, fori am dying;" 
and when he came to himself the next morning, 
he continued to express the same desire. I was 
sent for, and informed him that he must wait un- 
til he was instructed, and that as soon as he got 
well I would give him the requisite instruction; 
but that if he were in serious danger of death I 
would baptize him at any time. This satisfied 
him, and during the day he showed signs of im- 
provement, but as evening came he began to sink 
so rapidly that I baptized him and prepared him 
for death. As the morning drew near, with the 
sisters kneeling at his bedside and praying for 
him, he breathed forth his regenerated soul to 
his Maker. That morning, while the body of 
the dead man awaited the arrival of his friends, 
I went to Grand Junction to assist a neighboring 
priest. I have often been struck by the wonder- 
ful conversions that occur at our hospitals. Men 

62 



CELEBRATION OF A FESTIVAL 

who spend long lives of utter spiritual abandon- 
ment are suddenly touched by the merciful hand 
of God, and the Divine visitation, which they re- 
gard as a curse, becomes the greatest blessing. 
Brought to themselves during the tedious hours 
of illness, they begin to see the folly of their past 
life and in the face of suffering, the vision of truth 
comes to them. They repent and become good 
Christians, or die well. 



SIXTH SKETCH 

DURING my last two years at Ouray, and 
after Silverton and Rico had each a pastor, 
I now and then took a holiday trip into 
the mountains. On such occasions, I trailed a. 
deer, gave a wide berth to a bear, or killed grouse, 
which were fairly plentiful on Cow Creek. The 
mountain trout, too, were a tempting morsel to 
the patient disciple of Izaak Walton. The 
fisherman can always catch enough to eat, and 
the trout, fried in bacon, make a savory dish. 
Then the air is so bracing that you have the 
best of seasoning in a vigorous appetite. These 
short excursions, though physically exhausting 
and tiresome in a mountainous country, are an 
excellent antidote for mental overwork and the 
parish worries that come, when a church is in 
debt. Building churches, collecting money and 
paying debts soon wear a man out. 

I had two missions besides Ouray, viz. : Ironton 
and Ridgeway. Through the active efforts of 
the generous Catholics of these stations, a neat 
little church was erected at each town. I always 
said mass, and had an evening service on Sunda> r 
in Ouray, and I alternated the second Sunday 
mass at Ironton or Ridgeway. For the purpose 
of attending these missions, I kept a pair of 
bronchos, roan in color, weighing, perhaps, 
800 pounds each, and fast steppers. Leaving 
Ouray on Sunday morning at about six 
o'clock, I drove up to Ironton, a distance of 
nine miles. I let the ponies go at an easy 
gait, as there was a distance of 2,000 feet to be 
overcome in the ascent; but, on my return to 

S4 



THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

Ouray for the 10:30 o'clock mass, I did not let the 
grass grow under the little fellows' feet. Many 
a time have I descended the stony road along a 
mighty wall of granite, with the wheels of the 
buggy within twenty inches of a precipice, 
2, 000 feet deep. The journey I could make 
in the brief space of forty minutes. Now and 
then some visitor to Ouray would desire to come 
with me and view the magnificent scenery; but 
after one experience the curiosity of such a one 
would be more than gratified. The pace was too 
rapid, and the situation too thrilling for the 
greatest sensation lover. I once took a young 
man to Ironton on Sunday morning, and having 
been delayed beyond the usual time after mass I 
let the ponies fairly fly over the road on my way 
back. My companion clutched the seat of the 
buckboard and held on with all his might. He 
screamed and said: " Father, I must have heard 
something crack. ' ' I inquired if the wheels were 
on and he said yes. "Well, then," said I, 
"there is no danger," and I cracked the whip 
again. The little ponies, being light and willing, 
moved down the mountain at a tearing pace 
without injury to themselves or passengers. 

The broncho is by far the best and fastest saddle 
horse in the mountains. Not too heavy to climb 
the highest places, it is light enough to move 
down the steep incline with ease and security. 
Nearly as sure-footed as the mule, without its 
slow gait, the broncho will pick its way with 
skill over a narrow, stony path on a mountain 
ridge which is scarcely a foot wide and where the 
broad-footed horse would destroy himself and 
rider. The broncho may fall without injury to 
himself or rider, and once down, the latter is able 

85 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

to bring him to his feet again, turn him around 
in the trail or dig him out of the snow, some- 
thing he could not do with a heavy horse. The 
staying powers of the broncho are of the first 
quality and no large horse can stand fatigue, 
hunger, hardship and abuse so well as the de- 
spised broncho, which, during the past years, has 
been sold in the west as low as two dollars and 
a-half. 

It has been said, time and again, that a man 
on foot can outrun a horse carrying a rider down a 
steep mountain. This claim was put to test some 
years ago on that steep and narrow trail which 
lies between Marshall Basin and Telluride. The 
endurance, speed and certainty of this animal in 
keeping his feet, where it was impossible for a 
man to go down the almost perpendicular cutoffs, 
while bearing a rider, proved to the satisfaction 
of all that the broncho was capable of accom- 
plishing leaps down precipices and over craggy 
points, which even the Rocky Mountain sheep 
would not dare attempt. Thousands of dollars 
changed hands on the event to which I allude, 
as many people came to see this novel contest 
of four miles down the mountain between horse 
and man. 

The trip to Ridgeway was over twelve miles. 
After saying mass there on Sunday morning at 
nine o'clock, and giving a short instruction to 
the people, I had little time to reach Ouray for 
the second mass; the ponies, however, stood it 
well and passed everything on the road. But 
Sunday was their hardest day, as it was mine. 

In the early September of 1890 I planned a 
hunt to Cow Creek, and took with me a young 
friend who was not distinguished for his marks- 



THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

manship, his opportunities of using a gun having 
been few and far between. His name was 
Dennis, but not the Dennis who is made fun of at 
the political convention. I also took a young 
man who was born within the sound of the flow- 
ing Rhine, three horses, rifles, shot-guns, and 
rations for forty-eight hours. We brought our 
overcoats and a blanket each for a night on the 
mountain. Dennis, and Van, which was the 
name of the other member of the party, and a 
crack shot, intended to kill deer, and myself and 
my dog Prince were in quest of grouse. 

Everyone that has been in Ouray knows where 
the Horse Shoe is — east of the city. It is a vast 
amphitheatre, the wall of which rises several 
thousand feet above the city, indeed, so high that 
nothing but the bare rocks appear against the 
eastern sky. When the sun rises over these 
lead-colored peaks and the rays of his golden 
light quiver upon nature's towers, the scene is 
grand and impressive. In winter the hand of the 
clock points to ten when the sun shows his face, 
and in the west old Snefnes hides the last ray of 
the departing monarch by four in the evening. 
So, the days are short in Ouray's winter. The 
range on the northeast gradually sinks for twelve 
miles to the northwest into stunted foot hills, 
which fade out of sight in the verdant valley of 
the Dallas. To the northeast of a city, which is 
thought by many to be the most picturesque in 
the world, the resident of Ouray may, as he sits 
in his doorway, easily trace the different periods 
of geological formation in the red granite walls 
which, rising thousands of feet, form one of the 
most beautiful features of a mountain picture in 
the San Juan. In the summer, when the snow 

87 



IN THK SAN JUAN 

is melting, a stream of limpid water rushes from 
the far-away peaks through a small ravine in the 
mountains above. The ravine is studded with 
scrubby pines, with here and there the golden 
willow, the wild plum tree and the swaying 
aspen, which is at home on the lofty heights. As 
the rivulet rushes over the cliffs, it falls several 
hundred feet and tones whatever of the stern may 
be in the scene. 

THE CASCADE OF OURAY. 

What murmur breaks the stillness, 
Stealing down from yon high walls; 
Coming forth from rock and crevice, 
Whisp'ring music, as it falls ? 

'Tis the cascade from the mountains, 
Rushing down the craggy way; 
Dashing o'er the time-worn boulders 
To the valley of Ouray. 

Now it sounds far up the mountains, 
In a voice that seems to say: 
"I am coming forth to gladden 
The beauty of Ouray. ' ' 

Nearer, louder, sounds its music, 
As it marches on the way, 
Gath'ring up the spring and streamlet, 
Leaping down upon Ouray. 

High above the city's grandeur, 
How its seething volumes play, 
Clad in gold and silver sunshine, 
Rushing down upon Ouray. 

It was our intention to climb this mountain. 
To do this we had to go down the road from 
Ouray for about two miles, then turn to the right, 
go up a gulch, creep along a trail that had special 
dangers for horses, and come out on Horse Thief 



THRIVING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

trail. We were ready to start at four in the 
morning. Prince was delighted, jumping gayly 
about and wagging his tail. Our progress at 
first was slow, Dennis taking the lead, with Van 
second, and myself bringing up the rear. Climb- 
ing a steep grade in the mountains is obviously a 
hard task, every few yards one must rest, and to 
urge a horse would be simply to kill him or force 
him to lie down on the trail. The rider must 
dismount and lead the horse. Dennis was a 
miner, so was Van, and it was difficult for me, 
who weighed 200 pounds, to keep up with 
them. We crossed little streams and stretches 
of valleys, well watered, well timbered, and car- 
peted with the russet leaves of many an autumn 
and the fossilized remains of deer and moun- 
tain sheep. Here was a soil which for richness 
can scarcely be equaled, and besides there was 
enough of timber for all uses. It was, perhaps, 
through such a paradise the Grecian leader passed 
on the famous retreat of the Ten Thousand, and, 
as I recall the memory of those pleasing valleys, 
I regret that I cannot describe them with the pen 
of the classical writer. While I plodded along, 
gazing on the virgin forest and the fertile country 
that would make happy homes for thousands, the 
thought of the folly of mortals unnumbered who 
quit the country for the city, came to my mind. 
"We leave our sweet plains and farms for smoke 
and noise. ' ' All over the world tens of thousands 
are toiling in dingy shops for the merest pittance, 
while in Colorado and the great west, acres, nay 
regions, of arable land summon the industrious 
to prosperity and happiness. It is true that you 
cannot raise everything you may want on the 
high tablelands, but it is just as true that a 

89 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

man's wants are not his needs. All the neces- 
saries of life may be produced — wheat, oats, barley, 
rye, potatoes and vegetables of all kinds, and 
wood and water are abundant. More timber has 
been destroyed in Colorado by forest fires and 
now lies rotting on the ground than could be put 
to profit by the inhabitants of the state for a 
century. 

At sunrise we came out on the plateau, far 
above the mountain, at whose base Ouray hides 
from the winter's blast. The sun was just steal- 
ing over the mountains on Cow Creek, and over 
that long range far away on the Cimmaron, 
whose jagged peaks are like a piece of embroidery 
on the sky in the background. To the west, the 
Blue Mountains of Utah lie like a coronet on the 
horizon, for the mists which always seem to hang 
over these mountains had been scattered by the 
effulgence of the morning light. From our posi- 
tion we could descry the very spot on which the 
city of Grand Junction stands, although seventy 
miles away, and the houses in Montrose could be 
seen at a distance of thirty miles. The Un- 
comphagre, a deep blue ribbon of water, winding 
its way through the valley of the Dallas, imparted 
to the prospect still more life and beauty. We 
were almost ravished by the sight. Dennis had 
no place in his mind for Killarney, her placid 
lakes and softly sloping hills; Van thought no 
more of the smoothly flowing waters of the blue 
Rhine and I could hardly realize the tame and 
even sweep of Iowa's fruitful farms, while the 
vision of Colorado's mountain scenery held us 
enthralled. The grass on the plateau was wet 
with hoar frost, and here, while preparing our 
guns, we let the horses eat. We followed Horse 



THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

Thief Trail for about two miles, when we came 
to an opening, or rather a gap in the mountain, 
peeped down the craggy defile, and to our de- 
light we beheld several deer and a bunch of 
Rocky Mountain sheep standing on a shelving 
rock 1,000 yards below. We determined to 
have some of the deer, for there was a law 
against shooting sheep, but the game had scented 
us and were moving down the gulch. We de- 
cided to follow them, leading our horses down a 
most dangerous slope into which £he water was 
seeping out from the mountain. Presently we 
were up to our knees in the splashing mud, and 
the horses floundered up to their breasts. After 
many severe efforts, we came out on a rocky 
point, bedraggled with mud and with much of 
the hunting spirit taken out of us; we looked 
much more like Sherman's bummers than the 
sportsmen you read of. After examining the 
ground and perceiving that we could not get 
down the mountain, our opinion was that it would 
be no easy task to get back the way we came. 
We were in a bad trap, and the game was gone. 
In this awful dilemma we made up our minds 
to face the difficulty of returning by the way 
we came. It took two hours to advance 200 
yards, and I believe Dennis would bear me 
out in saying that it was a very perplexing situa- 
tion. 

Having gained the trail once more, we fol- 
lowed it, and in passing through a piece of wood- 
land, were surprised to hear the sharp crack of a 
rifle at such an early hour, a quarter of a mile to 
the right. In a few moments, crashing through 
the brush several hundred yards away, came a 
magnificent specimen of a buck, with antlers 
91 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

thrown back. He was going, I thought, fifty or 
sixty miles an hour, and in a twinkle was over 
the hogback and out of sight. To follow him 
was out of the question, and we moved on care- 
fully, on the lookout for more deer. We had 
gone but a short distance when we met a tall 
country man — afterwards I learned he was a 
Missourian — carrying a Springfield rifle that may 
have done good service in the Civil war, as the 
stock was notched and bruised. He was a typical 
Yankee, with, long legs, a short back, and hav- 
ing that easy shuffle which indicates long ac- 
quaintance with frontier life. He wore a slouch 
hat, and rolled a quid of navy in his jaw as if to 
moisten his tongue, for he seemed to be warm 
and perspired freely. ' 'Did you see a wounded 
buck come up this way?" he broke in, without 
any formal introduction. "He was on the run 
down the mountain and I caught him on the 
hind quarter. I'm certain," said the man, "as 
he limped after the shot. ' ' I was about to say 
that he was on the run yet, and that he did not 
limp when he passed us, but we told him that we 
saw the deer pass at a rapid gait, and that he 
showed no signs of being disabled. From the 
man's excitement it was evident that he had the 
buck fever and had not seen the back sight on 
his gun when he fired. We moved on over the 
mountains, while our new acquaintance pursued 
the trail of the deer, which he hoped would soon 
lie down and die. 

Having crossed a range of mountains, we came 
to the headwaters of one of the many streams which 
empty into Cow Creek. This was a lovely spot, 
with some timber and a deserted cabin. It was 
just the place to camp. The grazing was excel- 



THRIWJNG INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

lent, there was much grass and water, with an 
abundance of dead wood to make fire and boil 
our coffee. While selecting a spot and still in 
our saddles, Van put his hand to his mouth and 
said: "Hush! see the deer." We looked over 
a hillock and about half a mile away, counted 
fourteen deer in single file, standing on the trail 
and looking directly at us. Apparently, not dis- 
concerted by our appearance, they began to move 
along slowly. Van took the rifle and rode down 
a gulch which was near by, while Dennis went 
around the mountain on the other side; thus, 
some one would have a chance of a shot. I re- 
mained in camp, and was cautioned not to shoot 
for an hour and a-half. I dismounted and rested 
in the shade of the tree, but Prince, with true 
setter instinct, was nosing around and soon 
raised a grouse, then another. I was tempted to 
have a crack at the game, but I kept my promise. 
I looked for the boys. They had passed out of 
sight round the mountain; I waited and waited; 
the sun became hotter, and I caught no ring of 
the rifles yet. I was afraid to move, lest I should 
disturb the grouse, and Prince was tied and 
begging piteously to be freed. At length, mak- 
ing up my mind to wait no longer, I turned the 
dog loose and the gun , too. In a very short time 
I had fifteen grouse, and was tired shooting, 
when the boys, footsore, came into camp, without 
a deer. We took lunch together and were 
quietly resting in the shade when our tall Mis- 
sourian came up with his burro, frying-pan and 
camping outfit. We invited him to have some- 
thing to eat, and discussed the probability of 
getting some deer. He knew of a place, a good 
place, too — it is a failing with every hunter to 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

know of a place, 01 course, a good place, but the 
particular place of the Missourian was ten miles 
from where we were sitting. He assured us, 
however, that if we adopted his suggestions and 
remained over night at his place, we certainly 
should get a deer. This being the object of our 
excursion we acquiesced. 

In the middle of the afternoon we set out over 
that barren region, reaching an elevation where 
there was scarcely a vestige of vegetable life, and 
keeping along the backbone of the mountain for 
miles, saw only a few skulking coyotes and foxes/ 
These we would not shoot, lest the nobler game 
might be put to flight, but notwithstanding this 
reserve, a deer did not appear the whole after- 
noon. As the sun was setting, we descended the 
mountain and found ourselves in a level plain 
through which a sluggish stream was trying to 
make its way. This stream we followed up for 
two miles to its source. Our Missourian friend 
proposed that we should camp here, as a half 
mile farther on we should enter the coveted park, 
in which we were to make our debut at the first 
streak of dawn. I shall never forget that night. 
Cold! the ice was nearly half an inch the next 
morning on the little lake that lay near our 
camp. On one of the adjacent cliffs we saw a 
mountain lion, which was too far away for a shot. 
We selected a spot for the night, picketed our 
horses and were soon enjoying a hot cup of 
coffee. We then spread our blankets on the 
grass, put on our overcoats and turned in for the 
night. I occupied the mid quarter of our resting- 
place as far as there could be a middle, for it 
was four in a bed. I must admit that I had the 
warmest place, but that is not saying much, as it 

S4 



THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

turned out to be extremely cold. All night the 
mountain lions and coyotes kept up a mournful 
howl, and what we supposed was a bear tore 
through the underbrush. Even the ponies and 
the burro joined in the dismal concert, which 
contained so many discords that it was hard to 
sleep. That we were disturbed by such weird 
music, and in such desolate surroundings, need 
not disturb the reader, for brown and cinnamon 
bear were at one time very numerous in the San 
Juan acid quite a few still remain, affording great 
pleasure to the true sportsman and filling the 
fellow who is always hunting bear with great 
fear. Black bear, of which there are many of 
the small variety, are not considered of much 
value in the list of the hunter's scalps. Camping 
out in the haunts of those animals is not so 
dangerous as the average novel reader thinks. 
The bear is a matter of fact animal and generally 
minds his own business. It will never attack 
man except when driven by hunger to desperate 
straits, wounded, or in defense of its young. A very 
comical story is related of three prospectors who 
were encamped where there were many cinnamon 
bears. At night the boys took great care to have 
a large log on the fire to keep away those prowl- 
ing monsters who, like all wild animals, fear fire. 
The smell of bacon as well as the remains of deer 
brought them very close to the tent at night, and 
the smashing of twigs by these heavy-weights of 
the forest kept the miners from sleeping, so that 
at intervals the latter got up and shot off their 
rifles, which had the effect of scaring them away. 
Miners take turns in cooking on those prospect- 
ing excursions and all become more or less per- 
fect in the culinary art. One morning when two 

95 



IN THE SAX JUAN 

of them were in bed and the third had gone to 
the creek for a bucket of water, a large cinnamon 
bear made a call. The bacon was sizzling on the 
fire and the coffee making its first effort to boil. 
The bear stood up on its hind feet, grasped the 
tent at the opening, pulled it aside and boldly 
walked in, paused and surveyed the situation. 
Tom and Bill were in bed — knives, pistols, re- 
volvers and Winchesters were within easy reach. 
The first sight of the bear put them into a state 
of utter helplessness. Indeed, it is said that Bill 
was so frightened that when the bear turned his 
back for further investigation, he hid under his 
companion. The bear at once began operations 
by putting his paw into the frying-pan and seiz- 
ing a large piece of bacon. But he certainly did 
not calculate on the fire and dropped the tempt- 
ing morsel; howling with pain, he danced around 
the room for some time, during which the boys 
in the bunk never moved. Seeing a sack of 
flour on a box he grabbed it in his paws and 
ripped the sack from one end to the other, scat- 
tering the flour in every direction. Looking at 
his white paws for a moment he thought the 
color good and lay down and rolled over and 
over, so that he rose up a polar bear, and scent- 
ing the sugar close by in the larder, he pulled 
out the sack and soon had devoured the greater 
part of it. In the mean time the third man re- 
turned from the creek, and catching a glimpse of 
the bear climbed a tree and waited until the bear 
departed, when he came down, and taking a Win- 
chester, followed the trail. He did not have far 
to go when he saw bruin sunning himself a short 
distance away on a ledge of rock. A few well- 
aimed shots did the rest, and the boys had bear 

96 



THRIIXING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

meat for some time. Next to the bear, the 
mountain lion is the largest, most powerful and 
dangerous wild animal in the mountains. He 
makes his home in the rugged cliffs, where he 
finds caves running into the depths of the moun- 
tains. From these dens, far away from the farm- 
houses, he descends into the valleys at night and 
pounces upon calves, sheep and sometimes full- 
grown horses and cattle. It is said that lions are 
natural cowards and never face man except when 
cornered and forced to fight. The sound of a 
human voice fills them with fright and they at 
once flee. I have known the case of a woman 
still living in the western part of the state who 
had a thrilling experience with a mountain lion. 
She went out into the field one day to dig pota- 
toes and brought the baby with her, w T rapping it 
up and leaving it in the wagon close to which 
she was working. Looking up she was amazed 
to see what she took for a large dog, jump nimbly 
into the wagon. Grasping the hoe, she ran 
toward the wagon, screaming at the top of her 
voice. The lion went up toward the child, seized 
it by the clothes and tried to carry it off; this it 
could not easily do, as the child was heavy and 
well wrapped in a blanket. As the woman ap- 
proached the wagon and the dog came running 
up, the lion fled without making an attempt to 
fight. But lions are not always cowardly. 

To take up, however, the thread of my sketch, 
I must say that Dennis was his name for 
that night anyhow, for he had to get up often 
and keep the fire going. Just as day was 
breaking, we sallied forth and skirted the 
mountain side until we came to the edge of 
the park. It consisted of about 200 acres and 
97 



IN THK SAN JUAN 

the Missourian had not exaggerated its charms. 
Through it ran a murmuring stream, which 
flowed far down into Cow Creek. Van went 
along the mountain to the right, the Missourian 
to the left, and, armed with a gun loaded with, 
buckshot, I was to wait for the deer at the only 
outlet we knew of. Dennis had to change the 
pickets of the horses and then join the party. 
I took my position behind a clump of thick wil- 
lows until it was clear day, but no deer was in 
sight. After a while I meandered down the 
creek in the direction taken by my companions, 
who as yet had not fired a shot. Presently they 
returned and reported that there was not a fresh 
track in the park and that there were no deer. 
So we turned loose and soon the grouse were on 
the move and rifle and shotgun spoke in loud 
tones in the mountain stillness. By nine o'clock 
we had bagged quite a number of grouse and all 
assented to my proposal, that we should go down 
the stream and through the canon to Cow Creek. 
Dennis brought the horses, and for a mile or so, 
we followed the bed of the stream. The water 
was shallow and clear as crystal ; the mountain 
trout could be seen breasting the stream in the 
swirling rapids; and on either side the porphyry, 
granite or quartz walls rose thousands of feet. 
At length, we came to a cascade over which we 
could not take the horses. We were compelled 
to turn back. On the left was a small opening 
in the wall, which had developed into a good 
sized gulch, down which trickled a stream, the 
bed of which was full of huge boulders and dead 
trees. Up this gulch I headed my horse and 
called the boys to follow me. The ascent was 
tiresome, but at last we arrived at the top of a 

9S 



THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

hogback — in the ocean's bed it would be called 
a reef. It was very narrow, and we had to em- 
ploy the utmost care to prevent our horses from 
slipping off. On taking observations, and find- 
ing that we were about six miles from where we 
took lunch the day before at noon, we set out in 
that direction. Coming down to the base of the 
mountain, through one of the most perilous 
passes, as it was the path of a yearly snow- 
slide, landslide and rockslide, we encountered 
the remains of a burro with the packsaddle still 
thrown around the bones, drills, hammers, axes, 
kettles and all the camp utensils necessary for 
an outfit. A few boards scattered here and there, 
indicated that a cabin had been swept away in a 
snowslide. 

THE SNOWSLIDE 

With rumbling tones, the mountain woke, 
Tossed like a giant, shuddered, spoke, 
Like peals of thunder in storm's wake, 
When leaden clouds the lightnings break. 
The calm, placid snow untrodden lay, 
Gath'ring in depth from day to day, 
Till rock and tree and wooded shade, 
Were covered close with frost inlaid, 
Gulches are filled and dells unseen. 
Lo ! nature in her winter scene, 
That will remain, unchanged by sun, 
Till springtime floods in torrents run, 
Which off its side to valleys flow, 
And make the peach and apple grow. 
The farmer, glad with hopes of gain, 
Prepares his crop for grateful rain, 
Which, glist'ning bright in banks of snow, 
In summer's heats begins to flow, 
Waters the plains and arid farms, 
And gives to earth her youthful charms. 
But, hark, the power on Sneffles crest, 
Hurls the huge mass from off its breast. 
39 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

Wildly adown the slope it speeds, 
The pines it snaps like hollow reeds; 
Boulders and trees dashed out and in, 
It sweeps along with deaf'ning din, 
Catching them up, twisted and broke, 
The relics of a single stroke. 
Far, far below in mountains moat, 
Crushed, buried in the abyssmal throat. 
The fallen tree, the cabin bare, 
Tell the bold miner to beware, 
While seeking wealth on mountain side, 
Death's embrace of the rueful slide. 

We looked carefully about for the remains of 
man, but found none. From the appearances 
we concluded the accident had happened several 
years before. At the base of this mountain, we 
took our rations, which were down to bed rock, 
and then pushed on over the mountain, coming 
out at a point about two miles from where we 
came up the preceding day. Van got his eye on 
some fresh deer tracks; and, as it was then only 
about two in the afternoon, we determined to 
follow these tracks some distance. For about 
three miles, the deer kept the top of the range, 
swinging around to the Dallas. They then 
turned down into the timber, and we all dismount- 
ed, tied our horses, and made a bold dash for a 
deer. While the boys kept in the trail, I went 
around the side of the hill. In this manner the 
whole gulch might be more easily covered. 
Prince was with me, and hard to hold. All at 
once, the loud report of a Winchester broke the 
silence, and a moment later a deer rushed up the 
gulch, tried to jump a high bank, missed it, and 
fell back, turning completely over; plainly he 
was a much-scared deer; but, retrieving himself 
in an instant, he was up and gone. The boys 
followed the trail down the gulch and were soon 
100 



THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

lost to view. I hunted for some time, killing 
half a dozen grouse, and waited patiently for 
their return. At last I began to think that they 
were lost. It was almost dark, the trail was 
very dim, the autumn leaves were falling, and 
the wind began to whirl them over the road. 
After firing my gun several times, the boys came 
back, empty-handed and disgusted with deer 
hunting. 

As night was fast approaching, we mounted 
and rode away. We got along pretty fairly for 
a short time, but, as we lost the trail, it was 
fully a quarter of an hour before we found it, 
and time was then valuable. We were at an 
altitude of 1 1 ,000 feet with only a deer trail, which 
ran around the backbone of the range to lead us 
down, and as long as we kept it, we were safe. 
But Dennis, as well as the Missourian, thought 
we should go down one of the many gulches to 
the left; in their opinion, any one of them would 
bring us to the main road in the valley. I pro- 
tested that we could not get through the fallen 
timber, while, by keeping the ridge, we should 
arrive sooner at our destination, although the 
distance was twice as great. My protest was 
vain, so we went down the gulch. It must 
have been about six o'clock when we reached 
this conclusion. As we descended, the timber 
became thicker and the fallen trees lay in every 
possible position, forming a network of inter- 
laced pines, poplar and shrubbery. The situa- 
tion was sufficiently exasperating, but we had to 
trudge along, carrying our guns and leading 
our horses. Becoming thirsty, we could find no 
water, as the gulch was dry. My companions 
wished to camp, but I was determined at all 
101 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

hazards to reach Ouray that night. The gulch 
finally narrowed down to a few feet in width, 
and the bottom was filled with holes, washed out 
by the summer's rains. Time and again, we 
stumbled, and the horses stumbled with us; in 
fact, it was a series of stumblings over fallen 
timber, until we came to a great washout, which 
checked our further progress. Here again the 
boys said they wanted to camp, but I was 
inexorable. Burning with thirst and sweating like 
a harvest hand, I turned up the side of the moun- 
tain, leading my horse over the rocks, jumping 
from shelf to shelf, and feeling my way with my 
gun where I could not see. Again, I sought 
the bottom of the gulch, and reached a better 
path. At last we struck another gulch, which 
contained a welcome stream. Thankful for this 
unexpected blessing, we knelt on the brink and 
drank to our heart's content. After a few 
moments' rest we resumed our journey and came 
out on the road. We reached Ouray at three in 
the morning, after a chapter of surprises and mis- 
haps. Our hunting expedition had proved a 
failure; and, with the exception of a few grouse, 
we had nothing to show for two days' hard 
work. However, we had a splendid outing, for, 
besides the exciting incidents of the trip, we 
were delighted with the magnificent scenery of 
the mountains. While the sublime prevails, the 
varied elements of the grand and romantic are 
not wanting. No man can travel through the 
mountains without a deepening impression of 
the majesty of the Creator; no one can stand in 
the presence of the snow-capped peaks, over 
which sunshine and shadow pursue each other, 
without feeling an impulse to elevate his soul to 
102 



THRILLING INCIDENTS OF A HUNTING TRIP 

God, the author and the finisher of the beautiful 
and the sublime. A trip to the mountains con- 
vinces the religious mind of the existence of 
divine power, wisdom and goodness, and inspires 
the man of good will with the resolution to seek 
first the kingdom of God and His justice. Where 
all is so divine, surely the spirit of man should 
not be merely human. 



103 



SEVENTH SKETCH 

THE San Juan is inhabited by people of Euro- 
pean extraction, as well as descendants of 
the aborigines. The proud blood of the 
Aztecs flows in the veins of the Mexican, who 
urges over the mountains the pack train, loaded 
down with everything from a quarter of beef to 
the long slender bar of iron which is used for the 
mine track. The wiry Scotchman, the robust Irish- 
man work side by side with the stocky Italian and 
the self-possessed American. Now and then the 
thrifty Scandinavian finds his way to the camp 
congress of the nations, and shows himself to be 
a giant of the drill. The phlegmatic Austrian 
stands side by side with the stanch son of Corn- 
wall. Here is a variety of nationality and char- 
acter which promises a wide field for the study of 
human nature. The natural virtues shine in the 
lives of these hard-working miners with a splen- 
dor that finds its counterpart in some of Rome's 
greatest men. When sickness, accident, or death 
comes to the cabin, all thoughts of self are dis- 
missed. But when snowslides come down the 
mountain side, bearing many to death, when 
pneumonia afflicts the young and strong, or the 
premature blast opens the day of eternity to the 
most careful and virtuous, these disciples of hu- 
manitarianism are thrown into a panic. To the 
religious mind the reflection then comes, that 
while natural virtues are good enough for passing 
ends, positive religion based on divine faith is 
necessary to stem the tide of fear and despair that 
floods a man's heart when death knocks at the 

104 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 

door. This truth vividly struck me when stand- 
ing at one of those death-bed scenes at which the 
clergyman is called to assist. 

I once met an old man who exemplified many 
of the qualities of natural, as distinguished from 
revealed, religion. He was about sixty-five years 
old when I made his acquaintance. Having 
served in the Mexican war, and commanded one 
of Joe Reynolds' steamboats upon the Missis- 
sippi, he acquired the title of captain by courtesy. 
Generous to a fault, and with a hand never 
closed to the needy, the captain was honored and 
respected by all who knew him. At sixty-five 
he was hale and hearty, and as active as a man 
of forty. The rich strikes attracted him to Colo- 
rado, and through his influence, which proved to 
have been unwisely exerted, many of his friends 
lost their investments in barren prospects. As to 
himself, he struggled some years, working the 
mines alone, and striving to interest others in 
what he believed would develop into paying 
properties. He lost his money by degrees and 
was compelled to lock the door on the tunnel, 
abandon his little cabin on the hillside and seek 
the mining camp, where he dragged out a poor 
existence by keeping a lodging house. Meeting 
the boys in the street, he would solicit them to 
patronize his house so that he might make a few 
dollars to help him along. When I visited the 
camp I always occupied his neat little parlor. 
We were great friends, and had many a pleasant 
chat together. Sometimes the conversation would 
turn upon religious subjects. His tenets were 
those of the sceptic, and all his belief was 
confined to the natural. Of the future his high- 
est conception was that he would not have to 

105 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

work mines, keep hotels or run a lodging house. 
In this respect he did not differ from the Indian, 
who looks upon hunting as the occupation of de- 
parted souls. He entertained, in a word, rather 
hazy views of the state of man after his death, 
but declared that death was as a sleep, that it had 
no terrors for him and that he would face it with- 
out emotion. In the event, however, it was 
pretty well shown that he feared the universal 
messenger, and that although life had burned 
down to the ashes, he hoped to live a little longer. 
He was appalled by the thought of leaving the 
world. I shall not forget the day I sat beside 
his cot in the old lodging house, endeavoring to 
inspire him with hope in the future. Despair 
was written on every line in his face, and his wild 
eye seemed to be searching for some ray of light. 
But of hope there was none for him; and the old 
man, worn out by a long illness, pleaded piteous- 
ly for escape from the deathly reaper. There, 
with eyes fast set, short, quick breathing, sharp 
jerks of the limbs, he tossed upon his couch, 
clutching the bedclothes and writhing in the last 
agony. It was a fearful sight. It seemed like a 
literal interpretation of the words of the apostle, 
"It is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of 
the living God." With his closely-drawn feat- 
ures, and his glazed eye apparently fastened upon 
me, I was deeply moved at a situation which 
contained none of the consoling features of the 
deathbed of the Christian. But, of course, there 
is no limit to the uncovenanted mercies of God, 
Who knows the clay of which His creatures are 
made. Still I felt a certain sadness at the pain- 
ful struggles of one who departed this life with- 
out the supernatural habits. I do not mean to 

106 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 

say that the unbeliever and sceptic always die in 
horror. Indeed, they sometimes pass away, as 
they came into the world, without any sign of 
consciousness, but the calmness and fortitude dis- 
played by them are of a stoical cast, and devoid of 
the true spirit of resignation which is expressed 
by the disciple of a revealed religion. At the 
moment of his departure from this life, the 
luminous truth breaks upon the thoughtful man, 
that there are two beings evident to him, God 
and himself; and from the standpoint of a merely 
natural religion, he must regard that God as a 
judge, clothed with terrors. At such a time the 
unbeliever feels "the soul-piercing reality of 
Lucretius. ' ' speaking of religion and the threaten- 
ing character it wears in the eyes of the infidel. 
As the thirsty traveler welcomes the inviting 
spring, so do I hail the transition of my theme 
from the sombre side of life, fashioned after the 
purely natural, to the sunny side of life patterned 
upon the supernatural. In the second year of 
my missionary labors in the southwest, a Mrs. 

K came to the San Juan. She was a native 

of Manchester, England, and the mother of five 
children, left to her by a penniless husband, who, 
at the early age of thirty, died of consumption. 
For two years after his death she toiled hard at the 
great manufacturing centre. During the day 
she entrusted the little ones to the care of a feeble 
old grandma, who tottered around on her crutch, 
taking oatmeal and milk, with a little bread and 
tea, three times a day, rather than apply for more 
nutritious food at the workhouse. So, the little 
pale-faced woman, day by day trudged to and 
from the mill, making barely enough to save the 
children from starvation during the week and 

107 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

give them a decent dinner on Sunday. Retiring 
late to bed and rising early, she snatched a few 
minutes from the long hours of her daily task to 
mend the thin garments of her fatherless children 
and instil into their minds the principles of re- 
ligion. As some satisfaction for her motherly at- 
tention she beheld her children always neat and 
clean, and far above the average children in those 
poverty-stricken districts. Being a woman of 
good conscience and some culture, she realized 
her obligations to give her girls a practical train- 
ing, suitable to equip them for the duties of life. 
The eldest girl at the age of twelve began to 
assist her mother in providing for the family. The 
mother and daughter managed their domestic af- 
fairs so well that they were enabled to put aside a 

few dollars. A year later Mrs. K sent the two 

eldest girls to night school, that they might acquire 
a knowledge of the arts of housekeeping and fine 
sewing. They made rapid progress, and at the 
end of two years, the older one graduating with 
distinction, was appointed assistant teacher at the 
school. 

Mrs. K had a brother in the San Juan who 

was always writing to her of the grand oppor- 
tunities of this country. His letters were replete 
with the accounts of success and wealth in a land 
where the poor became rich, the weak strong and 
all sorts of diseases cured, 

"Where a man is a man, if lie is willing to toil, 
And the humblest may gather the fruits of the soil." 

Mrs. K 's life was wearing out slowly but 

surely in the close atmosphere of the mills. The 
dread finger of consumption had begun to trace 
its first lines in her wan face. Why should she 

108 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 

not go to America, where she would have at 
least fresh air? Encouraged by the letters of 
her brother, who sent her the requisite passage 
money, she packed up her few belongings, and, 
with her children, set out for the bright land of 
the San Juan, which she reached in midwinter. 
The entire mountain region lay under many feet 
of snow, and for days and weeks the trains be- 
tween Silverton and Durango were blocked. It 
took a large body of men three weeks to clear 
the track from the effects of a snowslide which 
had come down into the Animas canon. What a 
contrast to the mild winter of England ! After 

many untoward events Mrs. K arrived at 

Silverton, where she engaged a modest residence 
for herself and her family. Beginnings are 
described as small, and they were very small in 
the case of an invalid who had very limited re- 
sources. The weather was extremely cold, fuel 
high, and provisions dear; so, the few dollars she 
brought with her from England were soon spent. 
Looking around for some aid in her distress, she 
received a lesson which comes to most people 
sooner than they expect, that friendship does not 

wear best in adversity. Mrs. K , however, 

had studied in a good school, and learned to bear 
the trials of life with becoming composure. One 
of the sources of her affliction was the want of 
weekly mass and Sunday-school for her daugh- 
ters. While she labored assiduously to supply 
these deficiencies by teaching her children her- 
self, her heart was ready to break at the thought 
that she had left home and kind friends for a land of 
strangers. No one can fail to observe that the 
great masses of humanity are ever ready for 
change, purely and simply, without regard to even 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

temporal gain. Men leave comfortable homes to 
find the sources of the Nile, or track the alligator 
in the swamps, for adventure. And it is a wise 
dispensation of Providence, stagnation being the 
death of progress. How often is utter indiffer- 
ence to results, the practical answer to the 
admonition of prudence, which embodies experi- 
ence in the familiar saying: ' 'You may go farther, 
and fare worse!" 

The long dreary winter made way for the soft 
warm sunshine of spring. But Mrs. K con- 
tinued to sink. The hollow cough and the hectic 
flush told of the ravages of the fatal disease, 
and lead so many to the delusive belief that 
death has not planted its standard on their perish- 
ing system. Rallying slightly w 7 ith the change 
of season, she resolved to go to Rico, at the time 
a lively camp, where there was a pretty fair 
prospect of earning a livelihood. Upon her ar- 
rival at that town, she found that houses were at 
a premium, so it was hard to secure a dwelling at 
any price. After much hunting around, she 
succeeded in renting a small cabin on the Dolores, 
a few miles from Rico. Here she lived all sum- 
mer. The girls, who were experts with the 
needle, made heavy flannel shirts and socks, 
which they readity sold to the miners. Thus 
passed the summer, and with good management, 
sufficient money was saved to tide the family 

over the winter. Mrs. K was made happ3 T 

by seeing in her children the fruits of her judici- 
ous methods of education. Instead of foolishly 
striving to load them down with frivolous ac- 
complishments, of which they were never likely 
to make profitable use, she trained their hands 
and eyes to remunerative employment. She felt 
no 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 

bound in conscience to procure for them such a 
training as would enable them to support them- 
selves. Her knowledge of life taught her that 
what business success demands is not the ability 
to shine in declamation, play the pretty in the 
parlor, or loll upon a divan, dreaming of the 
fool's paradise, in which the chief diversion is 
"sipping the wine of Ispahan;" but that manual 
industrial schooling is what the majority of boys 
and girls need to enjoy a fair measure of happi- 
ness here and, it may be said, a better prospect 
of happiness hereafter. There are, even in our 
day of general advancement, some departures 
from the true scheme of enlightenment. "By 
its fruits ye shall know the tree, ' ' and it is not 
wide of the mark to say, that the state would not 
be so deeply infected with socialism and the other 
prevailing isms, if the practical received a more 
careful consideration in the plans of education. 
Many young men, after spending long years por- 
ing over books at academy or college, are disap- 
pointed on the threshold of life, at not being ap- 
preciated at college standards, and obliged to 
seek positions, in competition with the less 
favored crowd, who have little book learning, but 
some common sense. A few years, however, 
teach the distinguished graduate that while 
poetry and eloquence adorn the high places, won 
by persevering toil, employers generally seek not 
brilliant scholars, but industrious, reliable work- 
ers. The sooner our youth learn that they must 
begin at the bottom of the ladder and under the 
wholesome discipline of hard knocks work to 
the top, the sooner they will fit themselves for 
prosperous careers. Young women, too, learn 
that "life is real, life is earnest," and wholly un- 
111 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

like the beguiling descriptions of ' 'mansions in the 
moon," which rill the pages of an ephemeral 
literature. The last panic that befell this coun- 
try revealed many of the hidden workings of a 
false system of economics, and emphasizes the 
fact that we are in a new era of development. 
The people of the United States are ancestors 
themselves, and in a constant state of evolution, 
framing by successful experiment, a destiny, un- 
thought of by past generations. We have broken 
away from the cast-iron theories and straight 
lines of our forefathers. This is an accomplished 
fact, and our methods are different from those of 
Burope. We begin where the people of Europe 
have left off. We recognize woman as the equal 
not the inferior of man, and many of the states 
have removed the common law disabilities of the 
woman. A wit has remarked that woman was 
superior to man, now she is only his equal. 
Without considering the merits of this change 
from the traditions of the past, or pretending to 
discuss the wisdom of this policy, it is sufficient 
to say that in most of our cities, women are 
found in offices and positions which, twenty 
years ago, were filled by men only. As women 
then have enlarged opportunities of usefulness, 
they must equip themselves for their new duties. 
But they must not forget that they are women, 
as well as citizens, and that their first duty is to 
preside over the home as its queen, not usurping, 
but sharing the authority of the natural head of 
the family. Besides the breadwinner there is a 
breadmaker, besides the clothweaver there is a 
clothpatcher, in short there must be a trained 
housekeeper, who keeps the dyspepsia from her 
husband and makes the most out of the least. In 
112 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 

the manual school, our girls should be taught to 
make a good loaf of bread, sew neatly, keep a 
house clean, help the young husband to establish 
himself in business, and perhaps to appreciate the 
wisdom of minding their own domestic affairs. 
But, of course, manual training is not a panacea 
for all the ills of life. The education of the hand 
and the eye is not sufficient. The heart must be 
educated, and education must be founded on 
principles of morality and religion. Without 
God there can be no commonwealth. Aristotle, 
in considering the comparative merits of different 
systems of government, maintains that without 
intelligence and virtue a republic cannot endure. 
I fully appreciate the prizes held out to those 
who obtain eminence in the higher arts and 
sciences, and that these prizes are worth striving 
for. In fine, it is the duty of the educator to 
impress upon the minds of the rising generation 
that any calling in life, whether high or low, is 
praiseworthy. 

"Honor and shame from no condition rise. 
Act well your part, there all the honor lies." 

In the fall Mrs. K began to show symp- 
toms of heart failure, and the physician ordered 
her at once to a lower altitude. On my arrival 
at Rico, her daughters informed me of her con- 
dition and requested me to go down to the little 
cabin, say mass, and prepare their dear mother 
for her last journey. I found the patient woman, 
frail and wasted, but calm and resigned. This 
world had lost its charms for her, and the world 
to come had no terrors for her. When she spoke 
of leaving her children, she said: "Why should 
I fret, since I receive all my afflictions from the 

113 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

hand of God. He is my father and their father, 
and in His care, my children are safe." The 
little parlor was clean and neat, with home- 
woven carpets upon the floor; and bunches of wild 
flowers, gathered from the mountains by the 
girls, gave the altar a bright appearance. Five 
candles of virgin white, decorated with delicate 
colors and encircled by crowns of artificial 
flowers, had been placed upon the altar. I re- 
marked that two candles were enough, and in- 
quired why these wreaths of roses were placed 
around the candles. ' 'Oh Father, ' ' said the girls, 
"these are our first communion candles and 
crowns. We are making a small offering to our 
blessed Lord, just as we did at our first com- 
munion in Manchester. It is all we have to give 
Him. Mamma said we should make a complete 
offering of all we had, and here are our candles 
and flowers, and our better possessions, our souls 
and bodies." 

The next morning, I said mass at five o'clock, 
and another candle and wreath were added to the 
group of lights, as the youngest child was about 
to receive her first holy communion. The story of 
the mother of the Maccabees came to my mind, as 
that Christian mother knelt with her children at 
the altar. There they were, six devout mortals, 
with tears streaming down their cheeks. I pro- 
nounced the solemn words: "Behold the Lamb 
of God, who takes away the sins of the world," 
and the confession of faith and humility: "Lord, 
I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under 
my roof, say but the word and my soul shall be 
healed," and gave them the Bread of Life. It 
was a sublime spectacle, which it is the privilege 
of the Christian religion alone to offer. I am frank 

114 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 

to confess that I was touched by the solemnity of 
the scene, as the dawn with silent step stole down 
from the gray peaks into the valley of the 
Dolores. 

After breakfast, a ranchman drove up to the 
door of the cabin. We all assisted in packing 
the few effects of the family into the wagon, and 
in a short time, the little cabin on the Dolores 
was tenantless. Mrs. K was made as comfort- 
able as possible, and accompanied by her daugh- 
ters, set out to Cortez, where, in the Monte- 
zuma valley with its inferior altitude and milder 
winter, she fancied she might grow strong. I 
promised to visit her before the weather became 
too cold, and confer upon her again the consola- 
tions of our holy religion. "But man proposes 
and God disposes. ' ' She went east, where she 
died as became a woman who in affliction at- 
tained sanctity. 

Saddling old Bill, I was soon on my way up 
the gulch, and winding along the narrow wagon 
road, which makes its way serpent-like on the side 
of the mountains to the Hermosa. The day was 
beautiful. The sunlight in flitting shadows was 
creeping higher and higher up the mountain. 
About noon I reached the Hermosa, unsaddled 
my horse aud picketed him in the long grass. 
While I was reclining in the shade and eating 
my lunch, a man came down the gulch riding a 
roan pony and urging on four tired looking burros 
laden with several sacks of ore, blankets, 
shovels, pans, picks, drills and the sheet iron 
stove which the miner always carries with him. 
A short-tailed dog, limping on three legs, brought 
lip the rear of the sorry-looking caravan. The 
stranger halted at the stream, and dismounting, 

115 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

permitted the pony to plunge in and drink of the 
refreshing water. To meet a person in the wilds 
is a great blessing, and I saluted the man by re- 
marking: ' 'A pretty warm day." He recognized 
my salute and said: "Yes, awful hot for this 
time of' the year," and lying down on his face, 
drank long and deep from the stream. Having 
fastened his pony, he walked over to me, and 
threw himself on the grass beside me. He was 
fully six feet three, and very muscular. He had 
long, red, unkempt hair and beard. With a 
hearty good will, he accepted my invitation to 
lunch. "You have been out prospecting" I said. 
"Yes, eight weeks now," he remarked, "and I've 
had a fearful time up there at the foot of those high 
mountains. I found some very good signs at the 
head of a little creek, and camped there. I 
washed out quite a bit of gold too," and he drew 
out of his pocket a large tobacco sack full of 
black sand and gold specks. ' 'Yes, it was hard to 
get. There was no water of any account, and 
you cannot get the stuff without plenty of water. 
But I tell you I had lots of water the night before 
last; and but for the little mouse-colored burro 
over there I might have been killed or drowned. 
You see the gulch was very narrow, with steep 
banks on either side. We had a cloudburst. 
Such rain, great Caesar ! it came down in tor- 
rents, it fairly spilled over; it was more like a 
deluge than an ordinary rainstorm. I was curled 
up in my tent with Jerry, my dog, and trying to 
keep dry, when, all of a sudden, that old burro 
ran up to the tent and began to bra} 7 . The bray- 
ing of the donkey, the peals of thunder and the 
barking of Jerry, made a terrible din. I got up 
and peering out, saw by the lightning that the 

116 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSITY 

creek was rapidly filling up. The water was 
then close to the tent. I had no time to lose, so 
I rose quickly, pulled the pickets of the burros 
and barely got them to a place of safety when a 
mass of logs upset the tent and broke poor Jerry's 
leg. Yesterday I dug out my things and they 
look pretty tough, but I tell you were it not for 
that old burro I might have been a goner. ' ' I 
should feel I was doing an injustice to one of the 
inhabitants of the Rockies, were I to take only a 
passing notice of that humble, domestic animal, 
the burro, known in musical circles under the 
facetious appellation of the Rocky Mountain 
canary. I am free to state that I cannot give 
unstinted praise to his assaults upon the higher 
notes of the first tenor; for the quality of his 
voice would not recommend him to the manager 
of an operatic company, were he in quest of a 
good chorus. However, as a slight recognition 
of his valuable services to man in doubt and trial, 
I offer the following tribute: 

THE BURRO 

When Adam named in days of old, 
The bird and beast and every fold, 
He gave to each its proper class, 
And well denned the gentle ass, 
His ears made long, inclined to flap, 
Down his shoulders is nature's strap. 
Thus marked, he went o'er the world wide, 
To help us all by easy stride. 
Docile, humble, of low degree, 
Destined ever a slave to be, 
He took his place when time began, 
And since has been the friend of man. 
From Eastern climes he made his way, 
Where his'try marks his longest stay, 
And to the West, o'er ocean's main, 
With Adam's sons he swelled the train; 
117 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

But man, like ever-shifting fame, 
Resolved to change the donkey's name. 
Away on mountain, far from throng, 
The sound he made, man called a song. 
So, moved by notes, most deem scary, 
Some dub him now the new canary. 

From early morn to close of day, 
He sings his song the same old way. 
His voice is harsh, a choking roar, 
And fills the mind with thoughts of gore. 
His notes, — one short, with two quite long, 
Contain the burden of his song. 
At midnight hour when nature rests, 
His crooning bray breaks out the best, 
And o'er the crags and passes bleak, 
His voice resounds in dismal shriek, 
And some will cry when they are airy, 
That "He's a bird— a true canary .' * 
The burro is his Spanish name, 
And bearing it he rose to fame; 
For up and down 'neath driver's wrath, 
He climbs with load on narrow path, 
Where slipp'ry trails and icy slate 
Precipitate him to his fate. 
Plodding along at break of day, 
So, year by year he makes his way, 
Loaded heavy in mountain dust, 
In winter's snows, and clouds that burst. 
Keeping his pace in sun and rain, 
He creeps along, a mountain train. 
In hunger, they say, oft he can, 
When all is gone, consume a can. 
Bridles, saddles and boxes too; 
He'll also eat a soleless shoe. 
Flour and coffee, bacon and ham, 
He looks upon, as we do jam. 
Butter and cheese left in the shade, 
Will disappear on his parade. 
Trousers and shirts, in time of need, 
Make him a meal for sharpest greed. 
But of the things beyond his skill 
Are iron hammer, miner's drill. 
Around the camp he always goes 
Striking at dogs and kindred foes, 
118 



A DEVOTED MOTHER IN ADVERSI TY 

Braying aloud with great delight 
When hay abounds and grain's in sight; 
Sometimes limping from saddle sore 
Dug in his back by sacks of ore. 
Taking ills like a patient man, 
He spends his time the best he can, 
Careless of wounds and battered feet, 
Stumbling along the stony street; 
Or, standing meek, with load or pack, 
Eats the hay from his partner's back. 

When flowers bloom and days are fine, 

The burro keeps in better line. 

When roads are good, and grass is long, 

With stomach full he pegs along; 

And o'er the hills and craggy walls 

He carries nymphs from Vassar's halls. 

'Neath Harvard's sports, or men from Yale, 

The same old wag is in his tail. 

The schoolmarms, too, both young and old, 

Ride him up through the mountains bold. 

His faithfulness should prompt us so 

To treat him well where e'er we go. 

A friend to all on dreary pass, 

Most useful is the modest ass. 



H9 



EIGHTH SKETCH 

SOME of San Juan's winters are very severe, 
while others are comparatively mild, but on 
account of the dryness of the atmosphere the 
cold is not felt so much as it is on the plains. 
Month after month, from late in the spring to the 
latter part of August, the snow melts slowly and 
the mountain torrents pour down the gulches and 
over the plains, irrigating the farms and insuring 
bountiful crops. Hence, the farmer watches the 
winter's storm with joy, while the miner, fearing 
the snowslide and the precipice, dreads its ap- 
proach. The winter of 1890, setting in betimes, 
was long and bitter. The rocks and mountain 
sides were covered with deep snow, and the tall 
pines, with their fleecy coat of white, looked 
small. The roads were blocked and often almost 
impassable. Moses Livermann, the director of 
the Silverton Railroad, was pushed to the utmost 
to keep the line open until Christmas. A large 
number of men had been at work from October, 
and a bank on either side of the road was so piled 
up with snow that no more could be thrown over. 
The Silverton Railroad, one of the highest in the 
world, connects Ironton with Silverton. I went 
over to Silverton from Ouray in October. It was, 
I think, on the 3d, and I rode part of the way 
to Ironton on a sleigh. I was not a party of one, 
but one of a party of travelers, and it took us 
from 10:30 a. m. to 6:30 p. m. to reach Red 
Mountain, a distance of about four miles. We 
had only two cars, one of which was derailed at 
least six times that day. and all hands assisted in 
removing the snow and in prying on the car. 
120 



THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 

When we were about ready to continue our jour- 
ney to Silverton I was stopped by a telephone 
message calling me back to Ouray, which mes- 
sage stated that a man was dying at the hospital. 
I was compelled to procure a horse at the livery 
stable and return as fast as I could. It was a 
trying task, but I arrived at Ouray without a 
mishap. Some time after, upon trying to visit 
Silverton under similar difficulties, I came near 
losing my life. The Ouray toll road was banked 
up with masses of snow. While passing over 
one of the bad spots in the road the sleigh tipped 
over, spilling out the passengers. I happened to 
be on the precipice side, and was thrown down 
the abrupt declivity some forty feet. Here the 
snow proved a friend to me, for it saved me from 
bruises, and perhaps death. My fellow-passen- 
gers pulled me up with a long rope, and we kept 
on our way just as if nothing unusual had taken 
place. 

Around Silverton, especially near Howards- 
ville, snowslides often play havoc. In a wild 
wreck of rocks, railroad ties, time-worn boul- 
ders and broken trees, a slide, on one occasion, 
nearly carried away the depot at Silverton. It 
is, therefore, one of the first considerations of the 
miner to mark well the lay of the mountains, be- 
fore he builds his cabin. 

In the summer of 1890 three young fellows 
came from the east, staked a claim, and began 
to run a tunnel into one of the mountains of this 
locality. It was not long before they learned to 
appreciate the perils of the snowslide. At least 
one of the miners was a Catholic; but, as will be 
seen, a reproach to his religion. He had been a 
student in a college, had served on the altar, and 
121 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

been tenderly bred by Christian parents; but, 
setting small store by the advantages he possessed 
at home, he went to the far-off land, where, re- 
moved from wholesome restraint, he forsook the 
observances of his religion. No words were 
too obscene, no oath was too horrible, and no 
blasphemy too indecent for a youth upon whose 
early days the light of fair promise shone. It 
was his greatest pleasure to take the Holy Name 
in vain, and companions of his, who had no re- 
ligious training, shuddered, when compelled to 
listen to his foul language. It had been storm- 
ing for several days, and many feet of snow 
rested upon the mountain side. It needs but a 
faint breeze then to send the whole mass down 
the mountain, and woe betide whatever is in its 
track. The three young men had been working 
in the tunnel all day, and were about to re- 
turn to their cabin, which was about 200 
yards across a gulch. The freshly fallen snow 
far up the mountain side was glistening in the 
last rays of the winter's sun. All around was 
pure and white, and not a sound broke the still- 
ness, save the voices of the three young miners, 
who, as they scanned the mountain and weighed 
the chances of an avalanche, were discussing the 
expediency of crossing the gulch. Our nominal 
Catholic, having gazed on the scene for awhile, 
decided to face the danger. His friends remon- 
strated with him, but for their objections he had 
only reproaches and curses, and calling them 
cowards for their prudence, he swore that he 
would cross that gulch in spite of Christ Himself. 
So, leaving his companions still undecided in the 
mouth of the tunnel, he set forth by himself. 
He had passed about half way over when one of 

122 



the; blasphemer's fate 

his friends moved after him, the third one, how- 
ever, standing in the tunnel and awaiting results. 
Scarcely had the second member of the party ad- 
vanced fifty yards, when the mighty mass broke 
loose from the mountain with a thunderous roar 
that would awaken the dead, and rolled down 
and on like the churning waves of Lake Michi- 
gan when swept by the fiercest storm. Despair 
seized the young men; there was no hope for 
them How in five feet of snow could they 
flee from that avalanche, which grew in speed 
and volume as it rushed down the mountain side? 
In a trice it was upon them, and dashed over 
their lifeless bodies in less time than it takes to 
record their fate. It is said that a rock struck 
the unhallowed blasphemer, and ground into 
mince meat that tongue of his which had so often 
defied the God who made him. It was an appro- 
priate punishment, and a warning against sins of 
the tongue. ' ' Blessed tongue that spoke the 
praises of God," cried St. Bonaventure, as he 
kissed that sacred relic of the good St. Anthony 
of Padua, but accursed is the tongue that be- 
comes the organ of blasphemy. This reminds 
me of a similar incident in this same country. 
Two miners were working in a tunnel, and hav- 
ing drilled a hole, loaded it. From some cause 
the fuse failed to ignite the cap and the shot did 
not go off. One of the miners, a man of ungov- 
ernable temper, vented his spleen on the broken 
fuse in a torrent of oaths, and wound up his 
abuse by cursing the Almighty. He grasped the 
hammer and drill and began in a frantic manner 
to unload the hole. His partner fled, lest the 
charge might explode before he had time to get 
away. It did explode and tore the mad miner to 

123 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

pieces, eviscerating him and strewing his intes- 
tines on the ground before his face. It was a 
horrible sight. His partner tried to make the 
dying miner as comfortable as possible. When 
he came to his senses, which was not for some 
time, the unfortunate man acknowledged his 
guilt. His earnest petition was that God might 
forgive him for this sin of blasphemy, which was 
so speedily punished. Thus two blasphemers 
died, like the thieves on the cross, one to all ap- 
pearances repentant, the other, God knows how, 
but "His words will be justified and His judg- 
ments will prevail." 

Ouray was dull that winter, for the boys seldom 
descended the mountains. Sneffles was hidden 
in storm-laden clouds, and the highest peak in 
the district, on whose tapering heights snow is 
seen the year round, looked flat and dumpish in 
the heaps of snow that remained upon it. To 
come down from the Virginius mine was to in- 
vite great danger, and even at Christmas few 
dared seek the season's festivities or the refresh- 
ment of Mother Buchanan's bath house. Here 
is a boiling spring, which is one of the sights of 
the town, and many an afflicted miner has had 
the rheumatism dislodged from his bones in the 
big swimming pool of hot water which bubbles 
fresh from the earth at Mother Buchanan's. The 
water is hot enough to boil eggs, so it always 
needs tempering with the cold water which is 
provided in the bathing rooms. Every one calls 
Mrs. Buchanan mother and Mr. Buchanan the 
general, and a finer old couple do not live. 
Mother came from sweet Donegal, and brought 
w T ith her a heart brim full of sympathy and good 
humor, and well she deserved her title of endear- 

124 



THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 

ment, for she was a mother to all, and few knew 7 
her better than the writer. As for the general, 
frank and openhearted that he was, there was 
nothing in the house too good for his friends, 
who were all who had the happiness of knowing 
him. He was so civil and obliging that if he 
had no spring water at hand — and he loved 
spring water — he would take a bucket and make 
a bee line for the adjoining hostlery of Pat Hess, 
who had it on tap. So frequent were the gen- 
eral's accommodating trips to his neighbors that 
in the summer, when the boys in great force 
invaded the bath house, fifty to sixty taking 
baths on Saturday afternoons, a well-beaten path 
led to the business place of Mr. Hess. This gen- 
tleman was a German, but how he got the name 
Pat, unless he was born in Ireland on his way 
from Germany, I cannot say. The general was 
one of the old timers in Ouray, having come to 
the camp before there was a wagon road to the 
town. Camp life was the general's delight. 
With a good rifle, some flour, bacon, coffee and 
sugar, frying pan and spring water he was mas- 
ter of the situation. 

That winter a mine contractor, who hauled 
most of the ore from the Virginius and returned 
with supplies, lost a great many mules. They 
perished in the snowslides, or, tumbling over 
the precipice, were killed. The Virginius, which 
was at an elevation of about 13,000 feet 
above sea level, was approached by a narrow, 
difficult trail. My tried and true friend, Billy 
Maher, had a mining property, yes I believe 
half a dozen properties, near by, called for ever}-- 
thing that was patriotic, from' 'The Wearing of the 
Green" to* 'Brian Boru." Billy was a hustler. He 

125 



IN THK SAN JUAN 

had been in the mountains six or seven years be- 
fore I met him and had prospected all over the 
Sneffles district, where he staked his claims and 
worked assessments for Uncle Sam. Close to the 
apex of the Rockies he erected his cabin. There 
were no trees or grass, as it was far above timber 
line. It was a desolate place, rocks, rocks, rocks, 
on all sides. The only signs of life were a pecu- 
liar species of ground hog, that seemed to thrive 
on fresh air and the shrill whistling, which might 
be taken for a kind of don't-tread-on-the-tail-of- 
my-coat bravado, and an interesting little 
creature known to mountaineers under the name 
of the stone marten, whose continuous barking 
serves as a kind of second fiddle in concert. Of 
a brown color, with a pug-shaped head, close-fit- 
ting ears, and a pocket-gopher tail, this nerv- 
ous little animal, which always gives warning of 
its approach, flits with the agility of a chipmunk 
from rock to rock in search of grass and roots. 
The sportsman would deem it strange to find 
wild duck on the tops of the Rocky Mountains. 
Yet it is a fact that the hardy little teal dwells on the 
lakes that nestle like jeweled caskets above tim- 
ber line. Here they lay their eggs, hatch their 
3 T oung, and feed on the countless fish which 
swarm in those remote reservoirs. How the fish 
ever go£ there, is one of the mysteries hidden from 
the modern historian. However, it may be pre- 
sumed that the aborigines made those lakes their 
summer resorts and stocked them with fish from 
the valley streams, or the mountain torrent, which 
only the trout can ascend. Twenty } r ears ago, 
in many of Colorado's streams, it was no sport to 
fish and hunt. Shoals of the finny tribe moved 
about in their native element, shutting out the 

126 



THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 

light from the transparent waters, and devouring 
one another in pursuit of food. To catch three 
and four at a time, was an ordinary thing. They 
are not so numerous now, but good fishing may 
still be had, and offers rare sport to a person who 
loves to play and catch the gamiest of all fishes. 
With the first approaches of spring, and after the 
snow has melted slowly, the teal may be seen 
making its way from the lower altitudes up the 
stream. In the early summer it builds its nest 
on the sedgy bank of some little lake and there 
rears its young. Should these swift and experi- 
enced explorers be mistaken in their prognosti- 
cations of the weather and happen to be caught 
in the blinding snow, they often lose their bear- 
ings and fall ready victims to the inclemency of 
the weather. Flying around in the thick snow 
they alight in the pines or fall exhausted in the 
drifts, where they are soon covered up, perish of 
hunger or freeze to death. Farther down the 
mountain, among the stunted red willows which 
separate the naked rocks from the first signs of 
vegetation, is the home of the ptarmigan, com- 
monly known as the Rocky Mountain quail. It 
is a beautiful bird, and twice the size of the much- 
praised bob- white. In winter it becomes as white 
as snow, and at times can scarcely be discerned 
in the snow. In summer its color changes from 
a white to a brown, streaks of white remaining 
on the neck and wings. The feet are covered 
down to the toes with a thick, heavy coat of 
feathers, which afford ample protection from the 
most severe weather. The ptarmigan, as it 
moves only a short distance at a time, falls an 
easy prey to the hunter. 

In the same region dwells the mountain grouse, 

127 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

which is somewhat larger than the prairie 
chicken and not unlike it in appearance, having 
a long tail and a rather dignified strut. When 
disturbed, it will fly up into a tree and wait to be 
shot. In avoiding the hunter it never manifests 
the cunning of the prairie chicken. Whole coveys 
of these birds have been shot in the trees, not a 
single one seeking to make its escape. In the 
winter it lives like the ptarmigan, on the buds of 
the willows, or moves down into the valleys where 
food is plentiful. In the same locality is found the 
snow-shoe rabbit. This animal is about the size 
of the ordinary jack rabbit, but of a more delicate 
constitution. It dwells far up in the pines at the 
edge of timber line. It is probable that it re- 
ceived its name, snow shoe, from the webbed 
formation of its feet. Its toes are very short and 
the foot is broad and covered with long matted 
hair, which, growing between the toes, gives the 
feet a bulky form that enables this denizen of the 
Rockies swiftly to run over the freshly fallen 
snow without sinking. 

Billy's cabin was about ten by fifteen feet, and 
was constructed of native lumber. A small cel- 
lar had been quarried out of the rock for potatoes 
and other vegetables, but Billy generally brought 
the potatoes to bed with him, otherwise they 
might freeze in the cellar. For water he used 
snow in the winter, and in summer, springs on 
the mountain are almost as plentiful as wild 
flowers. Every miner can make biscuits, flap- 
jacks and a sort of white hoe cake. The miner 
is a good liver; he buys a whole steer, or beef by 
the quarter, hangs it up high, where, frozen solid, 
it will remain safe and fresh for eight months of the 
year. Besides, putrefaction at a great altitude is 

12S 



THE BLASPHEMER S FATE 

very slow, so there is no lack of fresh meat in the 
miner's bill of fare, though bacon or ham is most 
used, as it seasons a meal. Billy married a little 
body from his native country and settled down 
in life. Everyone wished him joy, and all Ouray 
turned out to do honor to his wedding day. His 
marriage did not impair, but rather increased his 
activity in working his properties, and he expected 
to strike it rich soon. Fall lengthened into the 
harsh winter of which I have been writing, and 
Billy was unable to come down as often as before 
to Ouray. At Christmas, however, he risked the 
dangers of the descent; surely it would not be like 
Christmas without Billy and his honest greeting: 
"How are you, anyhow?" About the middle of 
February he paid the town his last visit and re- 
marked that he had had an awful time getting 
down from the Virginius mine. As usual, he 
assisted at mass and received the Blessed Euchar- 
ist with all the devotion of his pious soul. 

Upon his return to the mine he took with 
him a beautiful English pointer of mine called 
Prince. He loved the dog and the dog loved 
him. While Billy and his partner, who hailed 
from sunny Italy, worked all day in the tunnel, 
Prince guarded the cabin. Everything was mov- 
ing smoothly with the partners, and the prospects 
of a splendid strike were good, when a shocking 
calamity befell Billy. 

"Ne'er unmixed with grief has heaven 
Its joys on mortals shed." 

It is an unfortunate custom of miners to take 
giant powder into their cabins, hold it by the 
fire and thaw it out. When frozen it will not 
explode, but when thawed it is one of the most 

129 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

dangerous and powerful explosives. On the 25th 
of February, Billy, before setting out for the 
mine, was engaged thawing the powder, when all 
of a sudden eight sticks of the powder went off. 
The result was • appalling, the stove was blown 
through the roof and the cabin was demolished, 
but the partners, where were they? Billy was 
horribly mangled, his right hand was torn out of 
shape. It was in this hand he held a stick of 
giant powder at the time of the accident, yet not 
a bone was broken, but the fingers were laid 
bare, the flesh having been blown off, and both 
eyes were destroyed. His face appeared as if 
painted with powder; all his clothing was torn 
into shreds and the discharge hurled him under 
the bunk. His partner, who was washing the 
dishes at the time, was not much hurt, but he re- 
ceived a painful shock and some slight injuries. 
After a considerable time the Italian came to him- 
self and shouted with all his strength for Billy. 
There was no answer, and he thought his partner 
must be dead. At last he lifted his eyelid with 
his finger, thus keeping his eye open, and saw 
Billy lying in a heap under the bunk. Slowly 
rising he dragged himself over to where Billy la}', 
and shaking the recumbent figure, roused his 
wounded friend, who faintly whispered, "Wrap 
me in a blanket and bring help." 

It was only a mile to the Terrible mine, but 
there were so many feet of snow on the ground 
that it was impossible to accomplish the short 
distance without snow shoes. The Italian knew 
nothing about snow shoes, and, therefore, was 
unable to use them on his feet. Picking them up 
he put his hands into the straps designed for the 
feet and set out to swim over the sea of snow, 

130 



THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 

which in swelling waves followed the rise and fall 
of the land. The trail was down hill most of the 
way, with here and there obstructions in the 
shape of rocks smothered with snow. When he 
encountered these he was compelled to swim 
around them. Using the shoes to keep him 
afloat, and his feet as propellers, he shortened the 
distance to the Terrible. 

Meanwhile Prince was alone with his master in 
the cabin, of which only the floor and one end re- 
mained. When the dog saw the Italian go away, 
he returned to the wrecked cabin, moaned pite- 
ously for some time, smelled of his blood-stained 
friend, and then sent up a howl that was most pa- 
thetic. He then climbed upon the side of the house 
that lay far out on the snow drift, and directed 
his gaze to the Humbolt mine. This mine was 
not so far away as the Terrible, but was much 
higher up, and that is why Billy's partner did 
not try to reach it. Prince sniffed the air for a 
moment, then gave a short bark and plunged into 
the deep snow toward the Humbolt, between 
which and the Terrible was a trail fairly well 
opened by the packers and miners, going to and 
returning from Ouray. A hill hid Billy's cabin 
from this trail, so no one could learn of the disas- 
ter, and the thunder sound of dynamite is so 
common in the mountains that no special notice 
would be taken of it. Prince pressed on through 
the snow, resting now and then, and turning 
back longing eyes to the wrecked abode of his 
master. At last he came within sight of the trail. 
A miner was making his way over the drifted 
road when his attention was called to the barking 
of the beautiful dog. Indeed, he was beautiful, 
being of the regulation kind, black and white, 

131 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

with long ears and large eyes which beamed with 
intelligence. The moment a gun was taken down 
he was at hand, licked the gun and fawned on 
the sportsman for permission to go hunting, and 
sometimes he would lie in wait for a hunting 
party until he had a chance to join in the sport. 
When he saw the man on the trail he set up a 
cry of distress, and sitting in the snow, moaned, 
then suddenly turned back a short distance. He 
wanted to engage the miner's attention and kept 
running up closer, continuing to bark, then re- 
treated, but the miner did not understand his 
strange movements and kept the uneven tenor of 
his way. As a last resort, Prince came straight 
in front of him, barking savagely and snarling in 
his mad endeavor to turn the man to Billy's 
cabin. The miner was somewhat afraid of what 
he thought was a vicious dog, and made several 
kicks at him. Finally Prince retreated, made 
his way back to the cabin and lay crouching be- 
side the couch of his master, who could not see 
or hear him, the detonation of the powder 
having deafened him; and both eyes were de- 
stroyed. 

The Italian, in the meantime, swam down 
hill on the Norwegian shoes until he came to the 
bottom of the gulch, when he had to climb up 
the mountain several hundred yards. On his 
way he could almost look into the boarding house 
of the Terrible mine, but no one saw him. Half 
the men were working, the other half sleeping, 
and the cooks were busy preparing dinner. The 
poor fellow, wet to the neck and ready to give up 
from exhaustion, still plunged on, using the long 
snow shoes as staves to drag his half paralyzed 
body up the steep incline. It was three in the 

132 



THE BLASPHEMER S FATE 

afternoon when he arrived at the Terrible, hav- 
ing started from the cabin at about 7:30. 

When he informed the miners of the accident a 
party of four was speedily organized to convey 
the mangled miner to Ouray. The little band 
proceeded at once to the Virginius, took the trail 
which leads to the Humbolt, and then the route 
Prince had taken. All had snow shoes and the 
trip was made without serious trouble. Arrived 
at the dismantled cabin, they found Billy and the 
dog side by side in the splintered bunk. They 
hastily constructed a hand sled, and strapping 
Billy, Esquimau-like, on the sled, covered him 
up. Two of the party took the lead and two more 
kept behind, holding a rope fastened to the sled 
to keep it from tipping over. In this manner 
they started back to the Terrible. It was now 
growing dark and the wind began to blow a gale. 
Sometimes the location of the mine was lost, and 
as the advancing darkness and the howling storm 
gathered around them, they trembled with fear. 
One of the men broke his snow shoe, another was 
so worn out that he wished to be left behind until 
help arrived, but the other two, inured to moun- 
tain travel, forced their companions to go on. 
Just before entering the gulch they heard the 
crash of a snowslide away to the right. It can 
easily be told from the explosion of dynamite, as 
it comes with a dull, heavy thud, devoid of all 
resonance. At last, ready to drop, they arrived 
at the Terrible. Four men had been notified at 
the Virginius to be at hand to relieve the first 
squad of helpers and take Billy down to Porter's. 
The Virginius was only a short distance from the 
Terrible. Four volunteers cheerfully responded 
to the call and prepared for the journey to 

133 



IN THE SAX JUAN 

Porter's, which was three miles down the moun- 
tain. But they never reached the Terrible; they 
were lost in a snowslide. As the four men failed 
to reach the Terrible, the same miners, fatigued 
though they were, resumed the task of bearing 
Billy to the hospital at Ouray. It was quite a 
heroic effort for the four men without relief to ac- 
complish the whole journey from Billy's cabin to 
Ouray. When they came back the next after- 
noon they met one of the men from the Virginius 
and reproached him for not having sent the 
promised help, thus compelling them to carry the 
wounded man the whole way. "We did send 
four men," he said, "at dusk yesterday evening." 
They all instinctively turned and looked down 
the mountain side. There they beheld the track 
of an awful snowslide and knew the fate of the 
four miners. Looking closely they saw a hat on 
the snow, and following the track of the slide 
soon came to a hand, frozen stiff, protruding from 
the snow. They digged around it carefully and 
presently reached the head of a man. The man 
was standing up as straight as an arrow with his 
hands thrown out, as if to ward off a crushing 
blow, or perhaps to keep them free from that 
horrible snow packing which ensues, when the 
crunching mass closes around an object. I re- 
member the case of the victim of a snowslide 
who had worked his way through the mass of 
snow with his fingers, and when he issued from 
the living tomb was fingerless, the fingers hav- 
ing been worn out in the effort to free himself. 
The first man who was uncovered was a Mr. 

M , a powerful fellow. He may have lived 

five or six hours standing up in his snow\ r tomb, 
and no doubt shouting for help, for there was a 

134 



THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 

large cavity which had been thawed out by his 
warm breath. By degrees he was frozen to death, 
but the struggle for life must have been supreme. 
Held as if by a vise, he must have fought a fierce 
battle for life. The only hope for a person caught in 
a snowslide is to remain on the top of the snow, 
which advances like the waves of the ocean in its 
ebb and flow. If you are thrown down at the 
outset your chances of life are next to nothing. 

Mr. M seems to have ridden the snow for some 

time, but the grinding mass submerged him. The 
next body found was that of a poor miner from 
Delta, Colorado, who had gone to the big mine to 
make a few dollars to buy seed for his ranch and 
help support a wife and six children. His neck 
was broken, so he scarcely knew what happened. 
The other two members of the ill-fated party 
must have been killed outright. 

Poor Billy Maher was brought to the sisters' 
hospital that night about eleven o'clock. The 
physician . examined him and found that he was 
blind and internally injured. The explosion al- 
most destroyed his hearing, and to make myself 
heard by him I had to speak at the top of my 
voice. I could gather from his faint whispers that 
he did not think he was very much injured, but 
he said that if he was blind he would rather 
die than live. We entertained hopes of his re- 
covery for a day or two, but they were in vain. 
Billy was slowly dying, so I gave him the last 
sacraments of the church and prepared him for 
death. He repeated some of the prayers and 
continued to make ejaculations expressive of his 
love of God, until he could do so no longer. 
Gradually, he sank into a state of insensibility. 
As the gray dawn of morning stole over the east- 

135 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

ern mountains Billy's heart went silent to the touch 
of death, the weary march of life was done, and on 
the powder-begrimed face a deathly pallor set- 
tled. Billy was no more, and the little cabin be- 
yond the ocean in distant Tipperar}^ would never 
again be visited by one, whose fondest hope w#s 
that he might sit once more beneath the thatched 
roof of his childhood's home. 

At Billy's funeral nearly everyone in town 
was present. My heart was too full for utter- 
ance; I could make no formal address, and only 
said that his life was more eloquent than any 
sermon I could preach. It is the simple truth to 
say that the dead man's part in life was well 
played. "He had a tear for pity and a hand 
open as day for works of mercy." He loved to 
serve mass and to minister to the wants of the 
priest, and in his goings in and goings out he 
was so well approved that greater honor could 
not be shown to a public official. His 
best desire was satisfied when he died fortified 
by the rights of the church, which he loved bet- 
ter than his own life. The memory of this noble 
soul deserves this tribute, and will long be cher- 
ished by his friends. "Only the actions of the 
just smell sweet and blossom in the dust," and 
merit record to enlighten others. 

A MINER'S DEATH 

'Tis dreary to-night on the mountain, 

The starlight is hid in the sky. 
The thick snow is falling and drifting, 

From each rugged peak's point on high. 

Away on Mount Sneffles bare summits, 
Where nature so awesome appears, 

Where the gloom-shaded face of the morn 
Distracts the beholder with fears, 
136 



THE BLASPHEMER'S FATE 

A miner is dying and praying, 
That God in his mercy may send 

The Soggarth Aroon to his cabin, 
A sinner in need to befriend. 

Meanwhile in the black winter's storm, 
His partner makes haste the long day, 

To announce a miner is dying 

On the mountain, from help far away. 

No mother, no wife to watch o'er him, 
And calm the worn spirit's unrest, 

Or lift up the soul that's aweary, 
By whisp'ring to him of the blest. 



The unction has now touched the Christian, 
His lips are still moist from the oil, 

Scarce has absolution been giv'n, 
When nature succumbs to the toil. 

The crucifix clasped to his bosom, 

A tear on his cheek lately shed, 
A word for his mother and family, 

The soul of the miner has fled. 

Beside him we watched from the midnight, 
Till heaven unlocked the new day, 

We laid him to rest on the hillside, 
From home and dear friends far away. 

The long train of sleighs and carriages moved 
slowly down the street and then wound through 
the gulch to Portland until it came to the ceme- 
tery, where, with the final prayers of the church, 
we consigned the remains of Billy Maher to their 
last resting place — 

"The tender tear which Nature sheds 
O'er those we love we drop into his grave." 



137 



NINTH SKETCH 

THE story of the prodigal son is repeated 
every day, and will continue to be repeated, 
until sin is no more. Every family has its 
black sheep. No one knows this better than the 
priest, w T hose ear is ever open to the story of 
man's folly. In his missionary calls, which sum- 
mon him day and night to perform the task of 
reconciliation between God and man, the dying 
prodigal, returning to his father's house with 
tears in his eyes, is a familiar figure. The cloak 
of charity is sometimes thrown over worthless 
lives, so that friends may not be offended, or 
pious ears scandalized. When a disedifying life 
escapes due criticism, religion is mocked at, and 
becomes a by-word of reproach. Charity to the 
dead may be injustice to the living, and the 
young are likely to be deceived by the glamor of 
the public funeral. The pagan crystallized a 
gracious sentiment, when he observed, that noth- 
ing but what is good should be spoken of the 
dead; but the true principle is found in the wise 
injunction: "Let justice be done, though the 
heavens should fall." If men practised justice 
more generally in their dealings w T ith their fellow- 
men, it would not be necessary to bolster up 
character by the display of a charity, which, un- 
enlivened by supernatural motives, degenerates 
into sensuality. 

While I was on the missions of the San Juan, 
I met mam r w T ho belonged to the category of 
prodigals, who are usually spendthrifts, but some- 
times misers, "in whom there is nothing heaven- 
ly." I wish to mention one or two instances of the 

138 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

spendthrift class. John W had fought from 

Bull Run to Antietam, and was wounded three 
times; but the final stroke was reserved for him 
at Ouray, when encamped on the field with the 
enemy that gives no quarter. He owned by gift 
or sale some mining property in the Ouray Gold 
Belt, and had come west to see it. He had a 
considerable sum of money, as he drew a pretty 
liberal pension from the inexhaustible coffers of 
generous Uncle Sam. He bore on his body as 
mementoes of the war and a consideration for his 
pension, three bullet wounds, one of which was 
very painful, breaking out with assured regular- 
ity. This wound he received on the gory field 
of Antietam, where, for two days, he lay with 
his head on the breast of a dead comrade. He 
came to Ouray at a moment when there was 
much excitement over the American-Nettie dis- 
covery. It was a time when every day saw new- 
comers, by tens and twenties, drop into town to 
locate and buy claims. So eager in the pursuit 
of new finds were these mine seekers, that not a 
few of them lay at night in the snow to secure 
first choice in the diggings. The people of Ouray 
congratulated themselves upon the fact that their 
city was not subject to booms, but kept a steady, 
healthy growth. 

More or less gold had been discovered in the 
mountains adjacent to the city, and a little even 
in the streets of the town. When the boys came 
down from the mines for rest and recuperation, 
they often took hammers and drills, and strolled 
up into the Blow Out or Gold Belt. They lo- 
cated some very good prospects, which showed a 
fair quantity of the yellow metal. It remained, 
however, for a couple of good-natured fellows to 

139 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

make one of the best strikes in the Blow Out. 
When money was plentiful they spent it freely, 
and, when short of funds, borrowed from their 
friends. They referred with pride to their future 
prospects, especially in the Gold Belt, which they 
claimed, would some day create a great sensa- 
tion. So they pounded away at the tunnel in 
the Blow Out, avoiding the dangers of the higher 
altitudes and enjoying the privilege of being 
their own masters. 

One day they came down to Ouray with a sack 
of the volcanic stuff, which fairly set the town 
wild. It assayed far up into the thousands, and 
everyone in town rushed up to the Belt to stake a 
claim. The news spread to the east, and min- 
ing experts poured into the town to examine the 
new find. Large sums were offered for a loca- 
tion, and soon the eastern side of the canon was 
dotted with tents. Our lucky young . men sold 
out for over $40,000 in cash, and were looked 
upon as the heroes of the hour. One of them 
having some strange ideas of his own, the first 
resolution he took was to go down into New 
Mexico and undertake to break all the faro 
banks. Full of this strange resolution he set out 
and remained away three months, returning with 
the loss of several thousand dollars. Not learn- 
ing anything from his failure in New Mexico, 
he continued in his stubborn resolve to "wind up, ' ' 
as he said, the £aro banks of Ouray, but lost all 
his mone3 T . This made a man of him. With 
the loss of the money, his senses returned, and 
he now does his day's work as of old, with a 
cheerful and contented mind. 

I knew another young man, who was a hard 
drinker, but otherwise a good sort of a fellow. 

140 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

He came from Pennsylvania at the time of the 
excitement to which I have referred, spent all his 
money, and then came to me and took the pledge 
for a year. ''Well, Father," said he, "if I ever 
make a strike, I'll settle down." He staked a 
claim, worked hard for three months, got the 
prospect in good shape, and sold out for $4,000, 
before the boom died out. On the 3d of July he 
came down to town, and fell into the claws of the 
tiger, losing his fortune. I have remarked that 
the spendthrift is generally the type of the 
prodigal, but, using the term prodigal in a 
higher, though rarely accepted, sense of the 
word, I would apply it, on the doctrine that ex- 
tremes touch, to that class of men who prefer 
money to God Almighty. Among the miners 
this sort of a being is rare, and obtains access to 
their company by effrontery alone. He is held in 
contempt by them, for he would rob Lazarus of 
the few crumbs that fall to his hard lot. His 
love of the mammon of iniquity shuts the door of 
his heart to all the sunshine of this life. With 
enough money, he is always poor. Adoring his 
sordid god, he holds in disgust and abhorrence all 
the works of mercy. Hugging his plethoric 
pocketbook, he ignores all appeals of charity, 
which is a strange, empty term in his ear. Such 
a creature I once met in the San Juan. A strong, 
healthy fellow, and of a parsimonious habit, he 
seldom came down from the mines, but remained 
there year after year, until he had eight or ten 
thousand dollars to his credit in one of the banks. 
And when he did come to town he showed no 
signs of sociability. So completely was he 
wrapped up in himself, that he shunned his fel- 
low-miners. When he had deposited his money, 

141 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

he returned without delay to the mountains, 
walking the whole distance, while others hired 
horses to make the difficult journey. To urgent 
requests from his old parents for help, he lent a 
deaf ear. Letters came to me, containing in- 
quiries about his health and circumstances, and 
when I spoke to him of the duty he owed the 
authors of his being, it was like pulling a tooth out 
of his head to extract a dollar from him. For 
awhile, he grudgingly sent them a paltry sum, 
and at length abandoned his indigent relatives to 
the cold charity of a British workhouse. But 
the wrath of the Almighty overtook him sud- 
denly; for one day he was killed in an accident 
without warning, and forced to leave the dollars 
which he had so faithfully hoarded. They fell to 
the lot of a near relative, who, consecrating them 
to gross vice, never stopped until he had squan- 
dered the last cent of the miser's treasure. Such 
was the fate of one who may have thought to 
himself that he had a balance at the banker's 
enough to insure him against Providence itself. 
1 'Accursed hunger for gold! to what dost thou not 
force poor mortals!" 

The saloons did a rushing business and the 
faro-dealers worked two shifts of eight hours 
a day. John, like all the old soldiers* had 
a knack of making friends and acquaintances 
and was not behind the others in spending 
his money. He made his debut in town by 
actually taking the large roll of bills, which 
he carried with him , and passing it over to the 
proprietor of the saloon. He then waded into 
the sea of dissipation, careless of the depths be- 
fore him. The free lunch, of course, was in the 
bill of attractions, and kept him from sensible 

142 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

employment. Going at a killing pace in vanity 
fair, he let but little time pass without its peculiar 
variety of distraction, and was busily engaged in 
the downward road to ruin, whenever he was 
capable of standing up at the bar, and shaking 
the dice. It was only when, stupefied by the 
draughts of poison he fell on the sawdust floor, 
that he paused in his mad career. So dead to 
shame was the poor fellow that he often lay in a 
heap on the ground. 

At the further end of the saloon was a vacant 
room, in which odds and ends were jumbled to- 
gether. To this retiring-room the degraded 
creatures, who had a dollar in their pockets, or 
were otherwise good for a drink, were removed 
for future investments. Here stood in the cen- 
tre of the room, a ragged billiard table, upon 
which John was tossed to sleep off his drunken- 
ness. During a spree, which might last ten 
days, the poor fellow kept moving from the bil- 
liard table to the bar, constantly under the in- 
fluence of the deadly drug. 

One morning he failed to put in an appearance. 
Late in the day the owner of the saloon went into 
the room and found the unfortunate man in a 
semi-conscious state, breathing stertorously and 
apparently dying. A physician was summoned. 
Upon seeing the man, the doctor ordered him to 
the hospital, where, after some restoratives and 
much hard work, he was brought to his senses. 
When he realized his sad condition, his money 
lost, and his constitution wrecked, the coming 
prey of death, his soul was so overwhelmed with 
terror and despair that pen can hardly depict his 
agony. He drew from his bosom the pictures of 
his little grandchildren, and kissing the faces of 

143 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

the absent ones, wept as if his heart would break. 
It was all he had left, and the bitterness of that 
hour seemed to be intensified rather than as- 
suaged, by the sight of the sweet, innocent faces. 
The physician said he could not live; his system 
was poisoned, and his flesh discolored. He had 
a gigantic frame and must have been a man of 
prodigious strength. It was not easy to convince 
him that he was about to die; but when he 
realized the truth, and with the deepest contrition 
had received the last sacraments, he became re- 
signed and faced death as in many a hard-fought 
battle he had faced it in the sixties. The saloon 
keeper was kind enough to bear all expenses. 
A similar deplorable case which came under 
my notice illustrates the ruin which the habit of 
drink produces in men of the best natural parts. 
The man of whom I speak was past middle life, 
but still strong and healthy. He was born in 
Ireland, of wealthy parents, who gave him a 
first-class education. A trained scholar, he could 
dash off a Fourth of July oration with as many 
dazzling tropes and figures as a master of rhetoric. 
Extensive book knowledge was ripened by long 
intercourse with the world of business. A 
brother of his adopted for a career the legal 
profession, and is now a prominent lawyer in his 
own state. The subject of my remarks literally 
drank the share of the inheritance that came to 
him. When all was gone, and with his loss 
came the remorse which outlives the worst form 
of dissipation, he moved west and after some 
3^ears found himself in the great carbonate camp 
of L,eadville. He was not long there, until he 
formed a syndicate for the purpose of working a 
mining property, and upon the sale of the mine, 

1U 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

his share netted him $12,000. He resolved to go 
back to Ireland and lead a reputable life among 
his friends, but while preparing to put his resolu- 
tion into practice, his passion for drink got the 
better of him, and he never got farther than 
Salida, Colorado, where, for nine months, he 
drank steadily, and when he sobered up, his 
money was gone. Disgusted with himself, he 
fled from the town, went over into Gunni- 
son County and tried to begin life anew. He lo- 
cated some claims, and with a companion, com- 
menced sinking a shaft. For six months they 
worked hard and during this time, true to his 
spirit of enterprise, tried to organize another 
company. He was on the point of accomplish- 
ing this purpose, when one day an unexpected 
explosion occurred in the shaft; his legs were 
both broken, one eye was blown out, and the other 
was left with little sight. His face was horribly 
disfigured and filled with burned powder. With 
a broken nose added to other disfigurements, he 
was one of the homeliest looking men at the 
mines. He was obliged to spend nine months in 
the hospital under the care of the sisters. During 
this involuntary retirement he assumed the show 
of the human form ; as a result of much medita- 
tion on the four last things, some pious reading 
and the enforced avoidance of the proximate oc- 
casion of his besetting sin, he determined to shun 
drink. 

Leaving the hospital, he repaired to Pueblo, 
where he secured a position as foreman on a Rio 
Grande construction train. For a year and a- 
half, he did not touch intoxicating liquors. One 
day he had some words with the superintendent, 
quit work and began to drink once more. Before 

145 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

he ended this spree in the gutter, the savings of 
a year and a-half were squandered, and the weak 
creature fleeing from his friends, was forced to 
beat his way to the San Juan country. Broken 
in spirit and body, he came to me and begged 
something to eat. I gradually drew him out and 
learned his history. I procured him some light 
work in Ouray and when he regained his strength 
sufficiently, a position in a mine, where, for 
nine months, without losing a day, he worked 
faithfully. But, as the absence of the vice does 
not prove the presence of the virtue, he was not 
reformed, the demon of drink held him in his 
strong, fast hold, and the first day he came down 
from the mine he inaugurated" a new spree, 
which closed with the delirium tremens. He 
was, indeed, a sad and pitiable sight. We all 
encouraged him to cheer up and try again. He 
did so, and worked about four months, when, on 
the 17th of March, he came to town and this 
time fell lower than ever. I was not aware that 
he was in Ouray, for when drinking he never 
came near me. About the middle of May I went 
to Denver on business. During my absence, the 
ambulance one morning drove up to the sisters' 
hospital, a man was carried in on a stretcher, and 
the sister in charge recognized a former patient. 
He had been on a prolonged debauch and finally 
lay down by the river to die alone, not wishing 
after his scandalous behavior to approach priest 
or sisters. He was tenderly placed on a bed, 
which was a rare delicacy for him. The heavy 
breathing and flushed countenance told the ex- 
perienced sister that he was about to die, so she 
informed him that he must have a priest at once. 
The nearest priest was at Montrose and, accord- 

146 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

ingly, he was wired to come up on the evening 
train. The poor man prayed all day for forgive- 
ness of his sins, deplored sincerely his unhappy 
life and strove to make amends for the past in 
the few hours still left him. As the shades of 
evening and death drew on, he sank rapidly. He 
called for the priest again and again. His gentle 
nurse soothed him and calmed his fears, telling 
him that the train would soon arrive with the 
priest. At last, the long, loud whistle of the 
locomotive, steaming into the depot, reached his 
ear, and raising his faint voice, he cried out, 
"Thank God, thank God the priest has now 
come, ' ' and with a cry for mercy on his lips he 
died, manifesting every sign of true repentance. 
Next day I came home and we buried the victim 
of the accursed drink habit at the foot of those 
rock-ribbed mountains, from whose side trickles 
down the undiluted waters, which are the bev- 
erage of the wise. What a mockery of the end 
of the drunkard is the musical chant of the 
gurgling stream as it keeps its way from the 
mountain passes to the ocean, and what a com- 
mentary upon the evils of intemperance is such a 
wasted career ! Man was created with noble 
faculties, an intellect to pursue truth and a will 
to love good. But what does the intemperate 
man care for truth ? See him, leaning against a 
lamp post, swaying to and fro or wallowing in the 
mire ! Ask him what he is doing, or who he is. 
The answer is a stammering demand for a drink. 
If he meets a refusal, he does his best to mumble 
a curse or an oath. Loving his shameful ap- 
petites, the time he spares from the bottle he 
devotes to the neglect of the duties of his state of 
life. Instead of providing a home for his family, 

147 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

he gives his earnings to the grog shop, and 
suffers his children to run wild. Disorder pre- 
vails at his pretense of a home, where squabbles 
and blows sometimes end in murder. How does 
the intemperate man fulfil his obligations to so- 
ciety ? He owes the grocer, butcher, milkman, 
in a word every one he deals with, and when he 
dies, he leaves the state an impoverished, vicious 
offspring. The children of the drunkard's home 
swell the ranks of vice, crowd the reformatories 
and fill the lunatic asylums. Ah, "what a piece 
of work a man is ! How noble in reason, how 
infinite in faculty, in form and moving, how 
express and admirable; in apprehension how like 
a god, the beauty of the world, the paragon of 
animals ! ' ' This is the temperate man who, with 
his intelligence developing in the right line, 
marches swiftly to his end and glorifies his 
Maker. Alas, what a contrast is the intemperate 
man, who staggers through life to an inglorious 
end. Possessed by the demon of drink, "he will 
not serve;" he scorns advice and resents well- 
meant friendship; he ridicules the simple lives of 
his fathers, who in simplicity, became saints. 
How to satisfy his animal nature, is the absorb- 
ing aim of his besotted existence. If only the 
world were an open bottle, his happiness would 
be complete. It is by faith, hope and charity 
that we apprehend God, as it is by the senses we 
are put into relations with the material world. 
But the intemperate man believes in whiskey, 
puts his trust in whiskey, loves whiskey and 
everything that ministers to a sensual life. The 
cardinal virtues are the hinges upon which life 
revolves. Suppose the life of the drunkard is 
tested by this standard, the conclusion must be 

148 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

that it were better for him never to have been 
born. He goes to destruction with his eyes open, 
his motto is: "Let the last man pay the last 
man." For the virtues, which should adorn 
man, he possesses all the vices enumerated by 
the apostle as the works of the flesh; he is proud, 
and has nothing but his shame of which to be 
proud; thirsting for the most brutalizing pleas- 
ures, he envies his fallen brother, with whom he 
regrets he cannot change places. The drunkard 
is outside the pale of redemption, "Drunkards 
shall not inherit the kingdom of God. ' ' Statistics 
throw a lurid light upon the appalling evils of 
intemperance. An analysis of the causes that led 
in 1890, to the arrest of 7,386 persons, discloses 
the fact that in 5,096 cases, or three-fourths of 
the whole number, drink was the responsible 
cause. The total output of 44,031 breweries in 
1894 was 5,475,000 gallons, a number which 
imagination cannot realize. In that year the 
consumption of liquor in the United States alone 
was 1,150,000 gallons. Truly it is a dismal 
picture, and the reader may ask if there is any 
hope for the drunkard. I answer yes, but the way 
to temperance for the habitual drunkard is steep 
and rocky. Thank God there is a sufficient number 
of recoveries from the serfdom of drink to prove 
that a good will with the proper physical and 
moral remedies will effect a permanent cure. I 
am not an advocate of total abstinence, and I 
believe that there are cases in which it may not 
be necessary to recommend this practice; but 
some persons are in conscience bound neither to 
take, touch, or taste the forbidden cup. 

I met on my missions another man who had 
been a heavy and constant drinker for thirty 

149 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

years. He was an old soldier and possessed a 
fair degree of intelligence. From a large ex- 
perience, acquired in a military career of five 
years, he understood men and things pretty well. 
Before enlisting, he married, like many who are 
now going to fight the Spaniards. While await- 
ing the summons to active service, he fell into 
the habit of drinking to the point of intoxication. 
When discharged from the service, instead of 
forsaking his evil way, he went from bad to 
worse. Of course, when a man drinks to excess, 
he neglects his business, and as he does not mind 
his shop, his shop does not mind him. When 
poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at 
the window. So this 3-oung man, spurned by his 
relations, and threatened by his wife, left the 
latter and two children, and fled to the west. 
His intentions were good, he meant to reform, 
and then send for them. Perhaps he thought 
it was a change of climate and not a change of 
mind he needed. "But a man's mind to him a 
kingdom is," and no man is at home unless he 
is at home with himself. His resolutions were 
weak, and in a strange country he sank lower 
and lower. After a night's debauch, he swore 
that that was his last, but before night he would 
find himself again in the mire. Thirty years of 
such an existence, away from home and children, 
is an awful account in the history of a husband 
and father. This was the man, gray from age 
and dissipation, that I encountered. It was my 
special blessing to have been the means under 
heaven of reforming him and restoring him to 
his family, to a struggling wife and children, and 
even grandchildren, who had learned to lisp the 
name of the unfortunate grandpa, who was going 

150 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

to ruin in the west. It was on one of my sick 
calls that I found him like a maniac laid on a bed, 
strong straps binding his wrists and his ankles 
pinioned to the posts. He was foaming at the 
mouth like a vicious dog. One moment horrid 
despair sat upon him, the next, his eyes set in 
his head from hideous fright, he filled the watch- 
ers with dread. Often calling up all his remain- 
ing strength, he vainly endeavored to break the 
cords which bound him and destroy his enemies. 
The furies blocked his vision and he shivered 
with delirious terrors. Cold sweat flowed down 
his pallid temple, and he caught his breath, as if 
a mountain's weight lay upon him. The flesh 
on his face became livid, changing from purple 
to black, and his cries, moans and howls were 
unearthly. It was a dreadful presence to witness 
and the doctor said that there was no hope for 
him, for he was rapidly passing into a stage of 
alcoholism out of which few ever come alive. We 
all prayed that he might reach a lucid interval 
during which he would be capable of receiving 
the sacraments. He was a man, however, of great 
strength and in the mortal combat, the alcoholic 
poison slowly wore out, and reason once more ap- 
peared in a being, who we all believed, was be- 
yond the pale of human or divine salvation. He 
received the sacraments after due preparation 
with devout dispositions, and promised God 
never again to touch liquor. We made up 
some money for him and sent him to Denver. 
I am satisfied that his repentance was sincere, 
and I believe that from that day to this, a period 
of eight years, he has not tasted a drop of 
intoxicating liquor. Wonderful action of the 
Holy Spirit! 

151 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

When once Thou visitest the soul, 
Truth begins to shine, 
Then earthly vanities depart, 
Then kindles love divine. 

About three years after that awful sick-bed scene, 
the old man came to me and said: "Father, I 
want to go home. Will you write to my wife 
and try to reconcile her to me ? Tell her that I 
am reformed and that I have made a considerable 
sum of money which will keep us the rest of our 
lives." In accordance with his request, I wrote 
in substance: "Dear madam: — You will no doubt 
be surprised to learn that your husband is still 
alive. For three years he has led the life of a 
good Christian. He has a competence sufficient 
to keep you both in your old age. He impresses 
me favorably, and is a bright, intelligent man, 
having none of the hardness or cynicism, which 
dissipation usually produces. I hope you will 
forgive and forget the past, and only remember 
the young loving couple, whose hands and hearts 
w T ere united at the altar in 1861, when he was 
about to go to the front with the boys in blue. 
Drink was the cause of all his trouble, but his 
affection for you is undiminished. Think of the 
pledges that you mutually made on your happy 
wedding day, and receive him with open arms. 
You will be all the happier if you must do a little 
violence to yourself to fulfil what I believe is un- 
der the circumstance a duty. ' ' I am happy to 
to say that the old lady, who hesitated a little 
through fear of a relapse on the part of her hus- 
band, finally achieved a victory over her natural 
distrust and by the grace of God welcomed to her 
home the wanderer. I am also pleased to have 
the assurance that the old man, home again with 



BANEFUL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE 

wife, children and grandchildren, has kept his 
solemn pledge and leads a useful life, witnessing 
to the patience of God with sinners. May this 
example of a remarkable conversion help every 
unfortunate victim of drink to seek peace where 
only peace can be found, in a life of temperance. 



TENTH SKETCH 

IN the winter of 1890 the whole mountain region 
lay under a blanket of snow, and the narrow 

trails beaten out by the patient burro, were the 
only highways a great part of the season. Mother 
Cline, a celebrated snowslide on the Ouray road, 
had come down and filled the canon to a depth 
of fifty or sixty feet with great pines and enor- 
mous boulders. Travel was dangerous from 
Ouray to Red Mountain, and for fourteen miles 
on the opposite side of the range to Silverton. 
In the spring, which at this altitude begins about 
the 1st of May, only the mail carrier will ride a 
horse over the trails. Snowslides creep silently 
at first down the mighty slopes and suddenly, 
with an awful roar, overwhelm the unsuspecting 
victim. When the snow begins to thaw, the 
crust becomes rotten, and horses and burros 
break through it. 

On the 27th of April I received a summons to 
a sick bed from Rico, a mining camp far out in 
the Dolores country, and over 100 miles from 
Ouray. The man who bore the despatch had 
ridden forty-five miles across two ranges of moun- 
tains, and over roads where five to six feet of snow, 
ice, slush and high drifts obstructed his passage. 
The wires were down and the message did not 
reach me until Tuesday evening at five o'clock. 
I lost no time in setting out for Dallas, which is 
fourteen miles north of Ouray, believing that I 
might proceed by stage from Dallas to Telluride, 
and by Trout Lake to Rico. What was my sur- 
prise when I found that no stage ran from Tellu- 
ride to Rico. I returned from Dallas to Ouray, 
arriving at eleven p. m. and perplexed as to the 



TEN DAYS ON A SICK CALL. 

course to pursue. Saturday, Sunday, Monday 
and Tuesday — the man must be dead; he was 
dangerously sick of pneumonia — I could not be 
home by Sunday. Could I get to Rico at all? 
These were the thoughts that occupied my mind, 
as midnight approached. Duty, I exclaimed, 
and hurrying to the livery I ordered my horse 
and saddle for half past five in the morning. The 
Sisters of Mercy packed my vestments for holy 
mass on the coming Sunday. The holy oils, the 
chalice, the wine and bread were put away in my 
grip, and all the necessary preparations were 
made for the journey. At five o'clock I said 
mass in the little stone chapel, and a quarter to 
six found me seated on a good snow horse, w T hich 
means one that will take it easy when he sticks in 
the snow and wait patiently until you dig him out. 
Old Gray, who had lost one ear in a snowslide, 
and always played lame when tired, humped 
his back as he began to climb the mountain, the 
crest of which marked thirteen miles from home. 
Here, where the little city of Red Mountain nes- 
tles among the pines, I was to turn my faithful 
friend loose and head him for Ouray, which he 
rarely failed to find. We got along very well 
until we came to the little park near Iron ton. It 
was still quite dark, and the morning was crisp 
and cold. The snow was hard and the only 
danger was in the deep holes in the road. Old 
Gray managed to escape for a long time, but at 
last, despite his cautious movements, slipped and 
fell into a hole, out of which he could not rise, 
and as he lay on my leg I could not dismount 
and help him. He made two or three gentle ef- 
forts to get up, and as a trained horse will do, 
not succeeding, . remained quiet. My position 

155 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

was embarrassing and painful; much of the 
horse's weight was on my leg, grinding me into 
the frozen ice and snow. I believe it was my long 
ulster alone that saved the bone from breaking. I 
kept tugging and twisting the old horse's nose and 
ear, but he lay stiff as a log in the snow. What 
was I to do? I was growing faint from pain, and 
running my hand into my overcoat pocket I dis- 
covered my hunting knife, which I had recently 
cleaned. I cut the crust around my hip, and 
after nearly an hour's scraping and punching, I 
was enabled to get from under old Gray, who, 
during all my labors, never stirred. Once free 
myself, I soon had him up. By this time it was 
daylight, and I was on the alert for the rest of 
the journey. 

On my arrival at Red Mountain I sent my 
gray friend home, and strapping my pack on my 
shoulders, set out for Silverton, thirteen miles 
down grade. The sun was hot and reflected its 
burning rays from the seething masses of snow 
on the mountain sides. When I reached the 
depot the bell was ringing for the outgoing train 
to Durango. Boarding the train I rode to Rock- 
wood, which is forty-five miles from Rico. The 
stage left there every morning at nine, and when 
the roads were good, generally made connections 
with the train going to Durango. Fancy my 
chagrin when I learned that it took the stage two 
days to reach Rico! At that season of the year, 
the roads being bad, sometimes you traveled in a 
wagon, at other times in a sleigh, and sometimes 
you were forced to walk. You had to push the 
wagon or the sleigh to help the fagged horses up the 
slippery hills, and by way of change }-ou spent 
hours digging the almost smothered horses out of 

156 



TKN DAYS ON A SICK CALL 

the soft snow or mending broken harness with 
rope, twine, or wire. It was the last straw on the 
camel's back to have to pay seven dollars for the 
privilege of riding on the stage. With two days 
more on the road I began to think that the sick 
man was not only dead, but buried. To render 
the situation more exasperating I had to remain 
over night in Rockwood in a hotel made of slabs 
and logs through which the bitter cold winds 
came at will. The only attraction of the chamber 
in which I slept in my leggings, overshoes and 
great coat, was a square of gaudy carpet on the 
floor, which seemed to mock rather than give 
any comfort. In the morning about eight I met 
the manager of the stage line and begged for a 
horse. He had no horse to spare, but he had a 
good strong mule; on its right knee, however, 
there was a bunch about as large as a man's head, 
and if I had no objections, I might have the mule 
to ride to Rico. The price would be the same as 
on the stage, and he would wager ten dollars that 
the mule would carry me surely, if slowly, to my 
journey's end before nine that night. And he 
did carry me slowly, and as will be seen, very 
slowly. 

I took the obliging manager at his word and 
was soon seated in my McClellan saddle with 
my vestments strapped on in regular marching 
order. The day was beautiful. The sun was 
already warm and little streams trickled down 
the cliffs and hills. I knew the road and the 
short cuts so well that I thought I could not 
make a mistake, but experience taught me that 
pride goes before a fall. I saw a short cut which 
I believed led to the main road a mile from Rock- 
wood. Why not take it? I was in a hurry; time 

157 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

was precious. Upon taking this road I found 
instead of turning to the left, as I had supposed 
it would, it veered to the right more and more, 
and presently I discovered that I was going back 
to Silverton. Coming to what is called in the 
west a hogback, I had a view of the surrounding 
country, and saw the road a mile off. I would 
not turn back and go over the same road again, 
but cross the country through the soft snow and 
fallen timber. I followed the hogback for half a 
mile, and the traveling was fair, but at the bot- 
tom of a little valley into which I descended, I 
found the snow deep and much water. With a 
determination born of courage and a strong mule, 
I pushed ahead, when all of a sudden one of my 
sources of security failed and the mule disap- 
peared, leaving visible only his head, shoulders 
and embossed knee. I had broken through the 
ice; I was in a lagoon. In a moment I was out 
of my saddle and standing up to my hips in water 
and mud. The mule, with all his shortcomings, 
was a good one, and with a powerful lunge came 
forth from his watery grave. I was in a predica- 
ment and rather excited, and the mule was trem- 
bling. I looked around for some way out. I 
saw a house in the distance and a man gesticulat- 
ing. I waved my hand to him and he ap- 
proached. He proved to be a Mr. Nary, who as- 
sisted me in getting out of the swamp and 
brought me to his house. To say that the priest 
and mule were well attended would be putting it 
mildly. Hay and oats were given to the mule, 
and of course the priest received a royal welcome. 
My clothes dried, and a good dinner enjoyed, I 
was in the saddle again at one in the afternoon 
with three or four miles to my credit, but still 

158 



TEN DAYS ON A SICK CAU, 

forty miles from my destination. The afternoon 
was uneventful, the mule putting in some solid 
work on the bad roads. At dusk I was within 
fifteen miles of Rico and forging my way along 
as fast as I could. 

The awful darkness, which fell like a pall over 
the canon and on the misty waters of the Dolores, 
I shall not forget. The silence was broken at 
times by the hoarse roar of the snowslide, the 
short bark of the coyote, and the dismal wail of 
the mountain lion from some neighboring cliff. 
But the only fear I had was that the mule might 
fall. I was riding over ground consecrated by 
the hardships of the first Franciscans, who hun- 
dreds of years before followed the star of empire 
westward and named the sparkling stream Do- 
lores, sorrowful. Was it for the sense of loneli- 
ness which came to the missionaries as they 
passed the silent ruins on the Mancos, the empty 
dwellings on the cliff, and the desolate country 
which once fed happy thousands, they named the 
stream, Dolores? At last, worn out by my long 
ride, my limbs cramped and my muscles rigid 
from constant tension, I beheld lights here and 
there far up the Dolores, and my heart was filled 
with joy. The mule seemed to quicken his pace 
and we were soon at the hotel. It took but a 
few minutes to locate the sick man, whom I 
found recovering, at the turning point of a bad 
case of pneumonia. I met the doctor and Nick 
Hunt, who had carried the despatch over that 
fearful road, and was nursing the sick man and 
keeping up the courage of his friend until the 
priest should arrive. I heard the sick man's con- 
fession and then inquired about the welfare of the 
community. The doctor told me he had a pa- 

159 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

tient who would not live till morning. I asked: 
"What is his name?" Hereplied: "Donovan." I 
said: "He must be a Catholic from the name." 
The doctor did not know, but it was useless to 
see the man as he was asleep, and his life de- 
pended on this sleep. ' 'Very well, then, ' ' I said, 
"I must see the man for the very reason that he 
is so low. I must prepare him for death." I 
cut the conversation short by calling Nick, who 
had a pair of shoulders that would fill a door, and 
a fist like John ly. Sullivan's, to accompany me 
to the doctor's office. The doctor had given the 
patient a room and a colored man, who weighed not 
less than 200 pounds, as a guard and attendant. 
I was not very small myself and we sallied forth 
into the midnight and were soon tapping at the 
doctor's office door. The darky peeped out and 
cried: "Who's thar?" "The Rev. J. J. Gib- 
bons, of Ouray, to see Mr. Donovan, who is dan- 
gerously ill," I replied, and pushing the darky 
aside we walked in. The darky remarked as I 
passed him: "I think he's a Prosbetyrian, I 
does," but I declined any further parley with 
him. Donovan was awake in the other room and 
burning up with fever. He looked at me wildly, 
while I drew a stole from my pocket. I held up 
the crucifix to his gaze; it was enough. He 
said: "Father, I wish to go to confession. I am 
so glad you came, I have been longing for a 
priest." Nick took care of the darky while I 
was hearing Donovan's confession and preparing 
him for death. Then we left the office, and soon 
in the cold room and hard bed at the hotel I was 
asleep, with no mules or bad roads to trouble me. 
In the morning I met my old friend McCor- 
mick, a bachelor, who came to Rico in 1881, 

160 



TEN DAYS ON A SICK CAU, 

when the boom was on, built a cabin and located 
several claims. McCormick's cabin was the 
warmest and snuggest house in town; every- 
thing was as neat as wax, indicating what a 
comfortable place a willing bachelor may have. 
Mc had one of those famous chests modeled after 
the traditional Irish chest, with the exception, 
however, that the chest in question was his sleep- 
ing quarters. In the daytime it served for a 
lounge, the blankets being stowed within it. At 
night it was unfolded. The lid with legs suitably 
fitted to it, answered for one bed, on which I slept 
when I was in Rico, while the ow,ner slept in 
the chest proper. 

"A chest contrived a double debt to pay, 

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. ' ' 

With thick blankets and a blazing fire of pine 
wood, the cabin was warm the coldest nights. 
McCormick had been running a tunnel into the 
mountain for years. Alone he had driven it 
many hundred feet. Fickle fortune, however, 
did not smile upon him, and the strike which he 
hoped to make, remained in a state of possibility. 
His hopes brightened when the great strike was 
made on the Enterprise mine, and twelve hours 
a day were put in forcing his way into the solid 
granite. During all these years of suspense the 
grub sack was in a low state, bacon, flap- jacks 
and a dozen of Kansas eggs for Lenten fare, with 
a surplus of Colorado potatoes, formed the solids 
for the ambitious driller in the mine. Now and 
then, when the larder grew empty, Mc was com- 
pelled to work at other mines in order to replen- 
ish his vanishing commons and acquire a little 
capital to buy powder. Whenever I came to 

161 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

town McCormick enjoyed a few days of feasting: 
on porterhouse steak, ranch eggs, bakers' bread, 
the best coffee and other things that are reputed 
delicacies in mountain camps. He was a fair 
cook and so was I, and the meals we dished up 
were superior, if not in quality, at least in quan- 
tity, to such as are furnished in many a moun- 
tain hotel. After supper my genial host lit his 
pipe, took an old violin from over the door and 
sat down to discourse sweet music. While not an 
artist like Paganini, he possessed more than 
ordinary musical talent and played many difficult 
pieces at sight, which is a rare thing for a work- 
man. He loved to play the old Irish reels and 
jigs, and like most Irish fiddlers, kept his feet on 
the move, beating time. When tired of the fiddle 
he closed the concert for the evening with some 
well-sung Irish ballad. When the boys heard I 
was at Mc's they would call at night to tender 
their greetings and hear the news from the camps 
around. I generally ended the entertainment 
with some devotional practice. Mc was a de- 
vout Christian. For twelve years in the moun- 
tains around Rico, he had worked hard and tried 
to make a sale of his property, but failed. He 
was growing old and suffering from an injury re- 
ceived when a boy, and his sufferings were ag- 
gravated by the great altitude at which he lived 
for so long a time. Scarcity of money, however, 
prevented him from seeking change of climate. At 
last, broken down in health, he saddled his little 
burro, and, packing the necessary furniture, 
sought an inferior altitude and milder climate 
near Grand Junction. Years of toil had under- 
mined the splendid constitution of McCormick 
and he could stand no more; so, like Wolsey on 

162 



TEN DAYS ON A SICK CALX 

liis way to meet the king, Mc rested at a cabin 
by the wayside, and asked the hospitality of the 
owner. But after a few days' illness he died, the 
burro, the violin, the gun and the dog defraying 
the funeral expenses of one of the noblest men I 
have met in the far west. May he rest in peace. 
The Sunday morning following, a large num- 
ber of Catholics and Protestants attended religious 
services which I held at the Grand Army Hall. 
I announced services for the evening again, and 
requested the prayers of the congregation for the 
speedy recovery or happy death of Paul Breffort, 
a young man who was one of the pioneers of 
Rico. After many years of prospecting, Paul had 
struck it, and his young wife and two children 
were then on the Atlantic on a trip to the old 
folks at home. Paul had weak lungs and always 
feared pneumonia, which is so fatal in the moun- 
tains. The moment I stood beside his bed I saw 
death written on his face. With his nerve lost and 
a look of despair in his glazed eye, I could see there 
was no hope of his recovery. The poor fellow 
threw his arms around my neck and wept as he 
thought of his absent wife and children. I suc- 
ceeded at length in pacifying him, and bade him 
employ the time as became a brave Christian. 
He grew calm and resigned, receiving all the 
rites of the church with great devotion. Sunday 
night he died, mourned by every man, woman 
and child in Rico. I remained over until Tues- 
day to attend the funeral, at which the ceremo- 
nies of the church were carried out with as much 
pomp as a western mining camp allowed, and 
grief-stricken Protestants and Catholics accompa- 
nied the remains of a good man to the little 
churchyard. 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

On the morning of the next day I set out on 
horseback for Telluride in the company of a Den- 
ver attorney. The day, as well as I can remem- 
ber, was May 3, and the snow, although thawing 
rapidly, was still very deep on the Meadows. 
We left Rico at seven in the morning on two 
stout bronchos, which we were to ride as far as 
the roads would permit, and then dismiss, to 
town. My legal friend permitted his horse to re- 
turn before the roads became very bad, while I 
kept in the saddle, riding between banks of snow 
from six to eight feet high in some places. It 
was hard to move with soft snow, cakes of ice, 
slushy puddles and big holes, which gave the 
way the appearance of a honeycomb. Struggling 
and panting with the effort to hold his feet, at 
length my horse fell and was unable to rise. At 
that moment, opportunely enough, a son of the 
green isle, with a big roll of blankets on his back, 
came along. I seized the broncho by the head 
and my hardy son of toil having released himself 
from the encumbrance of his baggage, took him 
by the tail, and after considerable effort, turned 
him straight into the road. As a recompense for 
the kindty help he lent me, I entrusted the horse 
to him, requesting him to take the animal back to 
Rico. Having arranged my pack on my shoulder I 
moved on and soon overtook "the man of law," 
who generously shared the burden with me. We 
tramped over the rough road to Trout Lake, 
where we arrived in the afternoon. There we 
met the stage from Telluride, and having dried 
our clothes and enjoyed a good dinner, we set out 
for Telluride, which we reached about seven in 
the evening. I said mass the following morning 
and gave the Catholics of that little town an op- 

164 



TEN DAYS ON A SICK CALL 

portunity to make their Easter duty. When at 
Telluride I used to say mass at Mrs. Margowski's. 
Ten thirty of that morning found me again in the 
saddle, pushing on to Marshall Basin, one of the 
richest silver and gold camps in the world. After 
riding three or four miles I intended, as usual, to 
turn back the horse, but a mile and a-half from 
town, I met a burro train in the snow. It was like 
the Merrimac corking the bottle of Santiago de 
Cuba, it effectually stopped me, so I was compelled 
to back my horse and turn him around towards 
Telluride and let him go back. Afoot and alone I 
went up to the summit of the mountain near, 
the Virginius. On the sunny side of the moun- 
tain, miniature snowslides were slipping down at 
every turn, and in many places on the trail I 
walked over sixty to seventy feet of snow, with a. 
probability of that mighty mass breaking loose,, 
carrying me for miles to the gulch below, and 
burying me in a snow tomb, which it might take 
several years to thaw out. I watched my every 
movement carefully, for I remembered the inci- 
dent of the mail carrier who was carried away by 
an avalanche one Christmas eve at a point near 
the Ophir range. It was hinted that he had left 
the country with the Christmas presents that 
came from home to friends in the mountains. 
Money is a prolific source of evil in thought as 
well as deed. But the mail carrier's friends were 
mistaken in their suspicions, for three years later 
their theory of his sudden departure was exploded, 
when they found the honest fellow on the farther 
side of a lake in the shade of a hill frozen in 
snow and ice, and faithful to his trust, with the 
mail bag still strapped to his back. As I strug- 
gled along with my ulster and grip, for I had 

165 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

sent my vestments ahead on the stage, I was 
nearly prostrated by the terrible heat. At two in 
the afternoon I attained the topmost point of the 
pass. It would shake the nerve of the strongest 
to pass through a country of gulches in which a 
mountain of snow suddenly came crashing along, 
snapping trees in twain and carrying immense 
boulders in its course. The ear constantly caught 
the reverberating tones of distant snowslides, and 
far up the giddy heights desolation and solitude 
reign supreme. 

In this gateway of the Rockies I knelt down 
in the snow and returned thanks to God for his 
protection in taking me over a passage full of 
dangers and alarms. I felt hungry enough to 
take my lunch, and after a while spent in reading 
the inscriptions that were cut in the rocks, gen- 
erally proclaiming God's goodness and man's 
misery, I began the descent to Ouray, thirteen 
miles down the canon. I moved slowly at first, 
the frozen snow on the shad}' side of the moun- 
tain being very slippery. Make a misstep and 
you may be treated to a slide of a mile or two, 
with a probability of taking fire from friction. 
As I went down the mountain side the snow grad- 
ually became softer. I manoeuvred around for 
short cuts, not following the regular trail, and 
using the tail of my great ulster for a sled. 
When going too fast I drew up my feet, employ- 
ing them as brakes, and before long arrived at 
Porter's, wet and tired. For the rest of my jour- 
ney the roads were fairly good, and I reached 
Ouray early in the evening, having been away 
ten days on a sick call. 



166 



ELEVENTH SKETCH 

GREAT dangers are apt to arise on sick calls 
to the mountain camps, especially in the 
winter season, which includes a period, ex- 
tending from the last of September to the first of 
June. Late in September, the storms of rain and 
hail, which in the great altitudes are accom- 
panied with thunder and lightning, are hard of 
realization to a native of the lower country. The 
rain falls in torrents, the atmosphere is saturated 
with electricity, and ear-splitting peals of thunder 
cause the stoutest heart to quail. By the end of 
spring, it is well nigh impossible to travel over 
the passes, the road being honeycombed with 
holes, made by horses, mules, burros and men. 
When the snow freezes at night, the pass be- 
comes so dangerous, that people venture over it, 
only in cases of necessity. 

It was in such circumstances, that, in early 
spring, I received a telephone message from the 

Yankee Girl mine, announcing that C had 

fallen 140 ieet down a shaft, and was lying, 
broken and crushed, at the point of death. 
The message came shortly before daybreak. 
Dennis, my trusty Achates, and myself pre- 
pared for the journey of nine miles. Owing to 
the inclemency of the winter, I had not visited 
Ironton for some time, so I determined to take 
the vestments, and afford the little household of 
faith, working at the mines, an opportunity to 
hear mass, and go to holy communion. I tele- 
phoned to Ironton to that effect; and we were 
soon moving slowly along in the narrow trail on 
the toll road. The journey was beset with dif- 

167 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

ficulties, as the snow was not hard enough to 
support us, and the road was perforated with 
deep cavities, the edges of which were frozen. 
We slipped into these holes from time to time, and 
found it troublesome to draw our feet out of them. 
We had two horses, but were compelled to walk 
most of the way, and lead the animals. Having 
arrived after many struggles at Ironton, we left 
our horses at the livery stable, and proceeded on 
foot to the Yankee Girl. As we went higher up, 
the snow became deeper and the road, worse. 
Many times we fell with the pack of vestments, 
which Dennis was kind enough to carry most of 
the way. At last, and, of course, much fatigued, 
we reached the Yankee Girl and found poor 

C in a sad plight. Most of his bones were 

broken, and he lay on his bunk, suffering intense 
agony, but still retaining his senses. It is in- 
spiring to witness the rare patience with which 
the hardy miner endures pain. The night shift 
were in bed all around me, and in hearing the 
confession of the wounded man, I was obliged to 
make use of special precautions. Seven or eight 
of the boys, all from Donegal, Ireland, were 
anxious to go to confession and receive holy 
communion. There was no convenient place in 
the house, in which I could hear them. I was to 
say mass in the long dining room, up and down 
which the cooks and waiters continually rushed, 
keeping a deafening clatter of dishes and plates, 
which made it hard to hear. So I said: "Boys, 
I will go out to the sunny side of the building, 
and lean against the wall. You may come out, 
one at a time, and I will hear your confessions." 
Standing there, and to the passer- by apparently 
drinking in the beauty of the mountain scenery,. 

168 



VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 

I spent half an hour hearing the young men's 
confessions. Meanwhile, Dennis was busily en- 
gaged, setting up a temporary altar, and making 
appropriate preparations for the holy sacrifice. 
After mass, at which the boys all assisted with 
praiseworthy devotion, I administered the last 
sacraments of the church to the sick man, who 
was, presently, taken by a special train to Du- 
rango, where the doctors decided that it would 
be necessary to put him in a plaster of paris cast 
to keep him together. 

Mr. C , like all his compatriots, was a fine 

specimen of nature's noblemen. Manly, cheer- 
ful and christian, he was intelligent, hardwork- 
ing and edifying. He was unlike those libels on 
Christianity, who, to be reputed smart, copy the 
ways of the profane, and vie with scoffers in re- 
peating pert quips and flippant jests about holy 

things. C lived well, and, consequently, 

died well. I improve this opportunity to say a 
word in praise of the young men, who came from 
the Emerald Isle to this country. They are a 
valuable contribution to our fast-growing popu- 
lation, and, in the best sense, promote the grand 
destiny of the American people, who, in their 
cosmopolitan composition, possess little of the 
boasted Anglo-Saxon, but a great deal of the 
Anglo-Celtic, element. The future historian will 
be amused to read the recent nonsense of the daily 
press, upon the close kinship of Americans and 
Britons. We are a mighty, independent, inventive 
people; and do not plume ourselves upon mere 
matters of descent. The Donegal boys, while in- 
dustrious and self reliant, never forgot the les- 
sons of the little catechism, which they had 
learned at home. I pause to remark that no 

169 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

philosopher will ever attain the satisfactory solu- 
tion of the real problems of life, outside the doc- 
trine condensed in this much-neglected catechism. 
These boys, knowing that they were created to love 
and serve God on earth and enjoy Him in heaven, 
cultivated the theological and cardinal virtues, 
which constitute the summary of true morality. 
They were not ashamed of the religion of the great- 
est heroes of history; and after crossing the ocean, 
continued to devote themselves to the religious 
practices of their childhood. When not com- 
pelled to work on Sunday, it was their wont to 
walk down to Ouray, nine or ten miles, and assist 
at holy mass. They were known for the sobriety 
of their lives, and the careful observance of the 
laws of the church. They had in one of the 
youngest of the boys a model of virtue, and, to 
some extent, a guardian, who kept a fatherly 
watch over them, and checked any exhibitions of 
waywardness among them. How different the3' 
were from those young men who frequent bar- 
rooms and season their speech with curses and 
obscenity ! 

I often asked myself, why these young men 
were so moral and faithful to their religion. I 
thought it must be because they came from a 
country where their fathers had fought and died 
for the faith, leaving a priceless heritage to their 
descendants. Living among pseudo-reformers, 
and listening to the ribald songs and lampoons of 
Orangemen, they grew strong in the midst of 
adversity; and their roots, like those of the storm- 
beaten tree on the mountain, sank deeper and 
deeper for the opposition they encountered. In 
an atmosphere of bigotry, and hostility to na- 
tional freedom, they waxed vigorous and fervent 

170 



VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 

in their love for holy church and her salutary- 
teachings, their mental faculties acquiring a rare 
acuteness, as they were disciplined in defense of 
the truth. Great as has been the growth of the 
church in a land so favorable to it as the United 
States, it would be much greater if her children 
lived in strict conformity to her doctrine and 
admonitions; and the young men, of whom I 
speak, endeavored to extend the kingdom of God 
on earth, by the best of all sermons, consistent 
Christian lives. If they were remarkable for 
anything in particular besides their religious 
character, it was for their skill in dialectics and 
their ready wit. Who has not listened to the 
glib tongue of the Donegal peddler, and how 
many have been forced to admit his victory in 
discussion ! Many a doughty opponent has gone 
down before his biblical knowledge. Taking his 
adversary on his own ground, he would rout the 
latter with his own weapons and on the field of 
his own choosing. Perhaps, another reason for 
the solid virtue of these young men, may be 
sought in the circumstance, that it was in the 
mountains and glens of the north they had been 
bred. There was no place in such an environ- 
ment for luxury and effeminacy. They were 
inured to toil, content with little, and therefore 
wise. Few appreciate the truth so beautifully 
expressed by the poet, that adversity is the be- 
fitting cradle of wisdom: 

So, would'st thou 'scape the coming ill, 
Implore the Dread Invisible 

Thy sweets themselves to sour ! 
Well ends his life, believe me, never, 
On whom, with hands thus full forever, 

The gods their bounty shower. 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

And if thy prayer the gods can gain not, 
This counsel of thy friend disdain not — 

Invoke adversity ! 
And what of all thy worldly gear, 
Thy deepest heart esteems most dear, 

Cast into yonder sea. 

As contrasts serve to enlighten, I will here give 
an example of the opposite kind of character. 
That same year, which is the period of my 
sketch, I think it was during the second week 
in June, I happened to be at Silverton. After 
mass, one morning, I received a despatch from 
Rico, urging me to come on without delay; as a 
man was dangerously sick there. I took the 
afternoon train to Durango, where I remained 
over night, and in the morning, set out to Rico, 
by way of Rockwood. We had a heavy load of 
passengers and mail matter. 

Rico was then enjoying its second boom. The 
Enterprise mine, owned by the Schwickheimers, 
had become one of the great properties of south- 
western Colorado. Mr. Schwickheimer had 
worked for years, sinking a shaft, and many 
a time to procure the necessary funds, had 
been obliged to go into the mountains and earn 
some money, by running a saw mill. His pluck 
and energy were rewarded, and in my time he 
had 1 80 men engaged in the mine, for which 
he afterwards received $1,000,000 in cash. His 
success excited others, evetyone desired to grow 
rich fast, and thousands of ambitious miners 
and speculators were hastening to Rico. Real 
estate went up 500 per cent. , houses and cabins 
that had been neglected for 3 T ears were put in 
repair and everyone had a prospect or two. 
The rush had begun early in the spring, and 

172 



VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 

merchandise, mining and milling machinery and 
household effects of every sort lined the way from 
Rockwood to Rico. Mining experts and com- 
mercial travelers were hurrying pell-mell to the 
scene of new discoveries, the former, to buy and 
place property, and the latter, to sell their vari- 
ous commodities. Among the notables were big 

C of Denver, and another drummer called 

"Windy." He was a genial gentleman, whom 
I had known for some time. Some time before, 
we had together faced a dreadful storm on the 
Ouray toll road, when the stage had to be aban- 
doned. We were walking down a very steep place 
leading to Ouray, on which there was nothing 
but ice; all of a sudden, the two feet were taken 
from under my cheerful companion and he fell, 
with an awful thud, plump on the broad of his 
back. Desiring to show my sympathy I asked 
if he were hurt. To my surprise he seemed to 
be offended by the remark, for he instantly re- 
plied, ' 'What do you take me for, do you think 
that would hurt a man V ' He was not at all 
ruffled, but kept the whole crowd in good humor. 
At noon, the stage drew up before a partially 
constructed log house, which had a makeshift of 
a roof in some thin white canvas. Our stage 
driver, who hailed from New Jersey, having a 
keen eye for the main chance and genuine 
Yankee shrewdness, had taken up a homestead 
between the two ranges of mountains, put the 
house partly up, flung in a stove, and w T as ready 
to serve meals in any style. Seventy-five cents 
was deemed reasonable at the wayside in those 
days, and when a strong, rough meal was dished 
up hot, no one found fault. The stage driver took 
the greatest pride in his wife's pumpkin pie, al- 

173 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

though the pumpkins came in cans from the far 
east, and pressed them on his guests, commend- 
ing their rare qualities with an easy flow of wit 
and humor. He made a typical boniface and did 
everything to render his hostelry an agreeable 
place of resort. 

Among the passengers on the stage there was a 
sour-looking character who laughed long and 
loud at a filthy story, and sneered at everything 
that related to God or Christian decency. A 
drink now and then from a long black bottle 
with a neck as short as the entrance to Santiago 
de Cuba, increased his hilarity as well as the 
volubility of his foreign tongue. Like the man 
on the Appian Way, he felt compelled to reveal 
himself upon the beloved subject, self — and boast- 
fully proclaimed the infidel's views to the disgust 
of everyone. No one would suspect that it was 
only three short years since this blatant specimen 
of humanity left the cottage of his father and 
came to this country at the expense of a hard- 
working brother, whose lamp of life was, at the 
time, flickering on the upper floor of a rickety 
boarding house in Rico. He did not let the 
passengers know that this brother of his was then 
lying ill, but interlarded his profane speeches 
with Munchausen accounts of the mining pros- 
pects of his worthy relation. 

In crossing the Hermosa, the driver, while 
making the turn at the bridge, swung the leaders 
out too far. One of the horses, slipping over 
the bank, in a moment was in the swift current, 
and being rapidly drawn under the bridge, was 
pulling his mate with him, when a passenger 
sprang from the stage, and with his pocket-knife 
cut the traces and lines. In an instant the 

174 



VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 

animal was swept under the bridge, and drowned 
in the raging torrent. The rest of the distance 
was made slowly; most of us got out of the coach 
and walked up the steep hills to lighten the 
burden of the horses, whose biggest meal in the 
day is vulgarly called long oats, to wit: the 
whip. We arrived at the mining camp, just as 
the candle began to twinkle in the cabin win- 
dow. A crowd awaited the arrival of the stage 
at the postoffice, some looking for friends, others 
for letters, and still others lingering around to 
gratify their curiosity. Rico, at the time,, 
counted a resident population of some 1,300, 
but the floating population raised the figure 
1,000 more. Everyone had a little money and 
the people were rushing around, upon business 
bent. The streets were thronged with men, who 
were desperately earnest in pursuit of one pet 
scheme or other, and there were not a few, who, 
like Micawber, were waiting for something to 
turn up. The class of promoters is always well 
represented in a mining town. They sometimes 
make a sale, or as it is called, a turn, but general- 
ly live from hand to mouth. They seldom suc- 
ceed, for they have neither the experience, the 
ability, nor the perseverance, of the man who 
has a vocation for mining. Here also congregate 
the confidence men and thieves, who flock to new 
camps, trying to make something out of nothing, 
and have an easy time. The hotels were full, 
and beds were at a premiun. Upon the first 
rush, an enterprising firm came from the east, 
and erected a showy hotel, which had very fine 
appointments for a mountain town. It was three 
or four stories high, and had winding stairs and 
some handsome furniture. Waiters in flashy 

175 



IN T-HE SAN JUAN 

costume stood behind the chairs in the ordinary, 
and pushed them under you with such a sharp 
jerk that you felt as if you were about to fall on 
your back; the napkins were done up in triangular 
shape and the bill of fare was in the approved 
fashion. The swell style of the whole concern 
nearly paralyzed the miners, who are men of 
simple ways; it was not long until it paralyzed 
the firm, too, for the tall price and the airy menu 
soon drove the hotel's patrons to the less aristo- 
cratic boarding house and its substantial meals. 
Having alighted from the stage, I lost no time 
in seeking the sick man. He was very ill, but 
had enough of strength left to make a long fight, 
and perhaps recover. I heard his confession 
and promised to bring him the holy communion 
in the morning. I then betook myself to Mc- 
Cormick's neat cabin, which was always open to 
the priest. Next morning, I said mass and pre- 
pared the sick man for death, as he showed signs 
of growing weaker. During the day, I was ap- 
prised that a mother and her baby were ill at the 
springs on the West Dolores; I was requested to 
come to see them. I visited most of the Catholics 
in the camp, and we considered plans for build- 
ing a church. Accompanied by a brother of the 
sick woman, I left Rico the next morning for the 
West Dolores. The air was fresh and bracing, 
and the ride of eighteen miles was a mere 
pastime. On the high plateau, called the Mead- 
ows, over which we rode, the grass was stealing 
up through the cold ground, still soggy from the 
enormous snowfall of the previous winter. We 
met a man riding a chestnut horse, which threw 
out one of its fore feet, and I remember I called 
the attention of my companion to the beauty and 






VIRTUS, THE ONLY NOBIUTY 



military step of the animal. The horseman wore 
a Mexican sombrero and seemed to eye us with 
suspicion, but we passed on without speaking. 
That same day, and about the same hour, one of 
the greatest bank robberies in the history of the 
state occurred at Telluride, about thirty miles 
from where we then were. The robbery was 
well planned and executed, and the stranger on 
the chestnut horse was, perhaps, on his way at 
that moment to join his companions, who were 
riding with the booty for dear life. For several 
weeks before the robbery, three men had been 
camping on the mesa south of Telluride. They 
had four horses, one of which was used to pack 
the camping utensils and cumbersome baggage. 
The horses were well fed with oats, and blanketed 
every night, something unusual for ordinary cow- 
boys to do. Every afternoon they rode into town, 
took a few drinks, smoked good cigars and were 
social companions for the miners. Upon these 
visits they learned all that was necessary about 
the bank, ascertained the pay day of the miners, 
and resolved to hold up the cashier. At that 
time there were 400 or 500 men working in 
Marshall J3asin, and on the day when the 
miners were paid, a general holiday was ob- 
served. When the day arrived the three men 
came to town on horseback, a circumstance 
which no one would notice, and after reconnoiter- 
ing for some time, went to a saloon, where they 
took only a cigar each. The day before $22,000 
had been sent to Telluride, and was in the regula- 
tion time safe. At twenty minutes to ten, the 
cowboys again mounted their horses, rode past the 
bank, and, I presume, saw that the safe was 
open. Wheeling around in the square, they 

177 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

withdrew to an alley, where they dismounted, 
tightened their saddle girths, remounted, and 
rode back to the bank. One remained in the 
saddle and held the horses of the other two, who 
strolled leisurely into the bank, as if to draw 
money, or make a deposit. The bookkeeper was 
just leaving the bank with a package of letters 
for the postoffice, so that only the cashier, who 
was also teller, was in at the time. Not a soul 
was near, when the tall, dark robber stepped up 
to the teller, and bade him throw up his hands. 
That official turned around, looked at him and 
began to laugh, but before the laugh left his face 
the man on the outside pushed the long barrel of 
a revolver almost into his mouth, and with an 
awful oath threatened to kill him. The cashier's 
hands went up at once, and the other robber 
sprang over the railing and quickly emptied into 
a gunny sack the crisp greenbacks that were 
stacked on the counter, as well as all the gold 
that was at hand. From the piles of silver he 
took only a few dollars. The affrighted cashier 
was informed by the robber who was guarding 
him, that he had a mind to kill him, as a coward 
is not fit to live. They warned him to keep 
quiet, and give no alarm; and, with this caution, 
the pair of daylight robbers walked out of the 
bank. Strange to say, during the whole trans- 
action there was not a man in sight. The cool- 
ness of these men may be judged from the re- 
marks of the tall dark one, who said, "Boys, 
the job is well done, and we have plenty of time, 
keep cool now and let us be gone. ' ' Once in the 
saddle, they rode up the street, shooting off their 
guns, as a warning, no doubt, to all who might 
try to capture them. The sheriff of the county 



VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 

was standing in the courthouse door when they 
rode by, hooting, yelling and firing off their re- 
volvers. He declared if he had had his horse he 
would follow and arrest those notorious cowboys. 
The cashier, growing bold, took a peep out; and 
finding the coast clear, stepped into the street 
where he met the bookkeeper, who was returning 
from the postoffice. The former was as pale as 
death, trembled from head to foot and with a 
mighty effort, stammered out: " I-t-s-a-l-l- 
g-o-n-e. ' ' Fifteen minutes after the bank had been 
looted, twelve men were in the saddle, and away 
over the hills after the robbers. The pursuit was 
fast and furious for a few miles, but the grass-fed 
horses were no match for the grain-fed and well- 
picked animals of the bank thieves. Arrived 
at Trout Lake, fifteen miles away, they rested, 
swallowed big doses of whiskey, and amused 
themselves by shooting the letters out of the signs. 
When they beheld the sheriff's posse a short dis- 
tance away, they mounted again and rode off 
hastily. The sheriff followed, but some of the 
horses lay down on the road, and when the 
Meadows were reached, of the twelve who started, 
only two or three were able to continue the chase. 
The others went to Rico to get fresh horses. By 
this time, the robbers were not far behind us. We 
met a Swede on the trail about two miles out from 
the Meadows; he had been looking at his bear 
traps and was on his way home to prepare his 
noon-day meal. While thus engaged, the bank 
robbers came in, and it is said that the Swede 
cooked the meal for the four in short order style, 
as one of them, who was under the influence of 
liquor, followed him around the house with a 
loaded revolver; however, he gave a twenty - 

179 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

dollar gold piece to the Swede; and, wishing 
him good day, left in a hurry. In those days, 
the timber was so thick that one man could de- 
fend himself against a dozen. The robbers 
knew every trail in Colorado and Utah, and a 
brigade of soldiers would have little chance of ar- 
resting them. 

We arrived at the West Dolores Springs about 
noon, and had dinner. I attended the sick call, 
baptized the child and rendered whatever spirit- 
ual aid I could, to the mother, and then we 
set out on the return trip. There was a 
light shower at the time, so we made up our 
minds to shorten the way by crossing the moun- 
tains, and make Rico in nine instead of eight- 
een miles, which was the distance by the road. 
By doing so, we missed the bank robbers, who 
about that time were enjoying the enforced 
hospitality of the Swede. 

That afternoon, we passed through some 
of the finest timber of pine and spruce I had 
ever seen. Some of the pines were ioo feet high 
without a limb; indeed, this was one of the 
primeval forests, where the axe and saw mill had 
not found an entrance. Going up the shady side 
of the mountain, we found many feet of snow in 
the old trail, although it was late in June. 
Streams were rushing down on all sides, and 
myriads of beautiful flowers, peering up through 
the snow, made a pleasing picture. When we 
reached Rico, all the town was agog over the 
bank robbery. All the old horses and muskets 
were brought into requisition, large rewards were 
offered for the apprehension of the robbers; but 
not one of them was ever caught. They must 
have made their way to the Blue Mountains of 

180 



VIRTUE, THE ONLY NOBILITY 

Utah and may be there yet. The Robbers Roost 
has long been a thorn in the side of the author- 
ities, and recently, some of these bandits were 
captured and others killed. 

Upon my return to Rico, I went to see my sick 
patient, who had been neglected in the interval, 
by his worthless brother, who was a gambler as 
well as toper. I found the poor fellow weak, but 
sanguine of recovery. I sat by his bedside, far 
into the night. During my vigil, the brother, in 
a state of inebriation, came into the cheerless 
room, remained only a few moments and departed 
for his dear haunt, which was a saloon across the 
way. Before leaving the hopeful man, I informed 
him that I should be obliged to leave early 
for home next morning, as it would take two 
days to get back to Ouray. I encouraged him and 
promised to call again in the morning, before 
taking the stage. I bade him good night.* Soon 
I was sound asleep at McCormick's, where the 
alarm clock startled me at five in the morning. I 
dressed in a hurry, and, after a while, was on the 
street to seek the boarding house of the sick man. 
Up the old decaying stairs, which were built on 
the outside, I pressed my way. At the second 
story landing, I found a long dark hall, on the 
right hand side of which, and near the middle of 
the building, was the large room in which he lay. 
I walked in with as little noise as possible. The 
early dawn was just stealing in through the dusty 
window, casting a sickening glamor over the pale 
face and white coverlets, which met my gaze. I 
approached cautiously and said to myself, ' ' He is 
sleeping peacefully, and now that the crisis has 
passed, he will surely recover." I laid my hand 
on his forehead, and to my horror, found the man 

181 



IN THE SAX JUAN 

was dead. There he was, cold in death, the 
blanket still drawn around him, but not a soul to 
close his eyes or stretch out the lifeless form, j 
went back to McCormick's, procured my ritual 
and returned to the death-chamber. Lighting 
the candle, I read the burial service — alone with 
the dead man, sprinkled the corpse with holy 
water, and, tearing a leaf from my diary, wrote 
in substance: "This body has been blessed for 
the grave," and signed my name. Having pinned 
the notice on the breast of the deceased I put 
out the candle, and from the awe-inspiring scene 
stole quietly away. I was soon on the stage and 
whirling along the mountain road to Telluride, 
absorbed in the sober reflections awakened by my 
latest experience. As I thought of the forsaken 
brother, dying alone in that dark, cheerless room, 
I might have well been led to consider that when 
death comes, a man feels he is alone with God. 
How true it is that if we desire to have a little of 
the composure of the higher life in death, we 
must cultivate much of the loneliness of death in 
life ! It is the part of the wise to live in the face 
of death. 



182 



TWELFTH SKETCH 

IT is said that Colorado will be one of the 
greatest states in the Union. The unlimited 
variety of her productions, the salubrity of her 
climate, and her inexhaustible treasures of gold, 
silver, coal, iron, marble and stone, insure her 
future pre-eminence. The resources of other states 
are few, and many of them have uncongenial 
climates, but the Centennial state has all the 
natural advantages of her sisters, and, besides, a 
population that for enterprise and energy have 
earned for themselves the significant title of Rust - 
lers. Some portions of Colorado are barren, yet 
there is a large part of the state so rich in the 
precious metals, and having such a high degree 
of fertility, that she promises to rival the most il- 
lustrious nations of the past. What was the city 
of Denver thirty years ago? A village. Now 
what is it? A metropolis, and known far and wide 
as the Queen City of the Plains. The same quali- 
ties which have made Denver what it is, have 
borne similar fruits in other portions of the state; 
but perhaps nowhere more conspicuously than in 
the San Juan, where possibilities are revealing 
themselves, which will place it among the most 
prosperous sections of the state. Take that tract 
of land around Durango, Farmington and Fort 
Lewis. What more fertile soil! What a field of 
enterprise for the man devoted to agriculture and 
horticulture! For here will one day be cultivated 
the vine, which for quality and quantity will vie 
with the products of the richest vineyards of 

183 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

sunny France. I will reserve, for another part 
of this sketch, the enumeration of other sources 
of prosperity, which this region, teeming with 
plenty, possesses. 

Thirty years ago the San Juan was a mere 
wilderness. With the exception of the hardy 
trapper and hunter, the white man scarcely ever 
entered its canons, traveled along its rivers, or 
over its mountains and dense forests. The tepee 
of the wild Indian, smoke-colored and tattered, 
was the only sign of human life, where to-day 
nature's latent forces are employed in the interests 
of a progressive nation. Electricity has changed 
the face of things. By this power the great min- 
ing mill has supplanted the old-time water mill. 
It has taken the place of the coal oil lamp, and, 
in many cases, the miner's candle. With its bril- 
liancy it has dispelled the faint gloom that for- 
merly hovered over the town and the mine, thus 
turning night into day. The ground is no longer 
parched. Swift sparkling springs wind their 
silvery course through plains, which once were 
arid. Modern machinery, in skillful hands, has 
cut channels through which rush the life-giving 
waters, that convert the desert into a garden. As 
I gazed upon these first fruits of nature, awak- 
ened by science to a new life, there arose before 
my vision fields of grain rising and falling like 
waves of molten gold in the setting sun, and a 
happy population engaged in industrial pursuits 
and enjoying the fruits of their toil. 

"There in full prime the orchard trees grow tall, 
Sweet fig, pomegranate, apple fruited fair, 

Pear and the healthful olive. Each and all 

Both summer droughts and chills of winter spare; 

All the winter round they nourish. Some the air 
184 



COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 

Of zephyr warms to life, some doth mature. 
Apples grow on apple, pear on pear, 

Fig follows fig, vintage doth vintage lure, 
Thus the rich revolutions do aye endure." 

And as my vision lingered over this scene, Du- 
rango, bearing in her hand the horn of plenty, 
appeared the mistress of the southwest. For lo- 
cation, altitude, climate, mineral and agricultural 
resources, this city is second to none in southern 
Colorado, and must eventually become a great 
center of trade. She has her smelters to treat 
the train loads of ore that day by day are brought 
down from Silverton and elsewhere. The waters 
of the Las Animas River flow through it, furnish- 
ing a power that might be conserved for many- 
purposes. 

Durango has mild winters. Snowstorms, how- 
ever, prevail, but the snow melts so rapidly that 
the tinkle of the sleigh bells is seldom heard in 
the streets. The atmosphere is not so dry as that 
of other towns, having an equal elevation. But 
the climate possesses qualities which build up the 
broken-down system without weakening the 
nerves. The valley to the north, on the way to 
Silverton, is one of the richest and most beautiful 
in Colorado. It is nine miles in length, and 
sheltered by red granite walls rising hundreds of 
feet and shutting out the cold winds of the higher 
regions. Fruit, vegetables and grain yield large 
returns, and the opportunities for the ranchman 
surpass his expectations. Toward the north is 
one of the most notable watering places in the 
San Juan. Hither throng year after year multi- 
tudes of tourists, the sick, the decrepit and 
rheumatic, all taking the medicinal waters which 
boil up from the solid rock . To this fountain of 

185 



IN THE? SAN JUAN 

Perpetual Youth the miner repairs to invigorate 
his system, impaired by hard work and the nerv- 
ous tension caused by the high altitude of Sil- 
verton and its neighboring mines. Pneumonia 
is much feared at the mines, and when the first 
symptoms of the dread disease appear the sick 
miner at once seeks a low altitude and enters the 
sisters' hospital at Durango. The miners look 
upon the hospital as their home in time of illness, 
and properly, too, because they liberally con- 
tributed to its erection , and upon all occasions 
show their good will toward it. 

Some of the mines around Silverton are at an 
elevation of 12,000 feet far above timber line, and 
have been worked with profit for several years. 
Silverton has always been a thrifty mining town. 
It lies in a beautiful park and is surrounded by 
very high mountains. It is well laid out and 
has some large business blocks and many neat 
cottages, and for those who can bear a dry, cold 
climate, it is a desirable place to live in. The 
summer and fall are delightful, and the winters, 
though cold, are not unpleasant. It has churches 
and schools, and as I said in a previous sketch, 
an altar society worthy of great praise for their 
zeal in the cause of religion. A branch of the 
Denver & Rio Grande Railroad extends from 
Silverton to Durango through the Las Animas 
Canon. As there is a down grade nearly all the 
way to Rock wood, the brakes are kept well set, 
and the train is borne along by its own mo- 
mentum. The scenery is varied, and generally 
partakes of the sublime. Along the track flows 
the Las Animas River, the bed of which is strewn 
with immense boulders, over which the waters 
dash in their impetuous course. Massive rocks, 

186 



COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 

weighing thousands of tons, overhang the river 
and the track, and in some places shut out the 
light of day. In every few miles, tributaries, 
rushing through the sides of the canon, feed the 
L,as Animas. At intervals along those inacces- 
sible heights, the eye rests upon naked crags and 
forests of pine, around which are scattered gigan- 
tic trees lying prone on the ground. Now the 
sight of the spectator is refreshed by patches of 
green sward, and again by mountain flowers, 
which lend enchantment to the view and clothe 
the mountain with a varied hue. 

What has been said of Silverton may be here 
repeated about Rico, Ophir and Telluride. Situ- 
ated in a spacious park, which narrows down into 
the San Miguel valley, Telluride is a typical 
mountain town, progressive, and having an en- 
terprising population. Many of the modern im- 
provements are found there, and its pretty resi- 
dences are set off by the graceful trees which 
grow along the streets. At some distance may 
be seen the snow-capped peaks of Marshall Basin, 
which contain the great mines, which have given 
Telluride a prosperous community. 

Life in the mining regions, especially in the 
wilds of the San Juan, is little known to eastern 
people. Indeed, even to most western people it is a 
land of mystery, for only a few, and these princi- 
pally miners, go there to seek their fortune. Far 
away from the Queen City of the Plains, the cen- 
ter of commercial life in Colorado, it attracts 
only the energetic and the robust, who have the 
hardihood to endure the severe cold that prevails 
in those altitudes. Many of her mines discov- 
ered and developed within the last fifteen years 
may be classed among the richest in the world. 

187 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

The quantity and the quality of the ore extracted 
from those underground storehouses are such as 
to surpass even the fabulous wealth of Croesus. 
Let me point to the mines of Sneffles Basin, Mar- 
shall Basin, the mines of Ophir, the Sunny Side, 
the North Star and the Yankee Girl of the Red 
Mountain district. The latter, I was informed, 
produced $450,000 in the short space of four 
months. It must not be inferred, however, that 
nuggets of gold and chunks of silver are picked 
up by chance on the surface of the mountains. 
This may be true of some favored locality, but 
most of San Juan's mines have become rich pro- 
ducers by hard labor, an immense outlay of 
money, and an endurance of untold hardships. 
Nevertheless, some of the mines have been dis- 
covered at the grass roots, and a few have made 
fortunes in a very short time. But the locator 
seldom realizes much from his valuable find, as, 
generally speaking, hundreds of feet of a shaft 
must be sunk in the solid rock before a mine 
pays. To do this, machinery of various kinds 
must be set up, houses erected, for the construc- 
tion of which large trees must be cut down, and 
often hauled up very high mountains, at an 
enormous expense. 

Those who have never seen a mine entertain 
rather peculiar notions of its workings and gen- 
eral appearance. The mines of the San Juan are 
what are called fissure veins. Those veins may 
be traced for a long distance across the country, 
but ordinarily only in one kind of formation, 
such as granite, trachyte, quartsite, etc. The 
vein is found to vary in width, averaging from a 
few inches to many feet. It is often barren on 
the surface, or shows a little gold or silver, but 

188 



COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 

may increase in richness, as depth is gained. But 
it may be a bonanza before even the pick or shovel 
is used. In deep mines the shafts are neatly tim- 
bered, to prevent the accidents that may occur 
from the falling of loose rocks and caves. Elec- 
tric light is used in many of the mines, rendering 
the interior not the gloomy hole which the un- 
initiated picture to themselves. A cage, resem- 
bling the elevator in a hotel, brings you up and 
down the shaft from one level to another. These 
levels may be compared to tunnels, and are some- 
times illuminated by electric lights. They are 
excavated on the vein for the purpose of getting 
out the ore with more facility and bringing it to 
the main shaft, where it is conveyed to the sur- 
face by the cage. Some of the machinery used in 
these mines costs hundreds of thousands of dol- 
lars. In most mines large volumes of water make 
their way through the rock into the shaft, re- 
quiring pumps of the largest capacity to keep out 
the water and render the mines workable. The 
number of men employed depends largely on the 
hardness of the rock, the amount of ore, and the 
extent of the mine's development. To cut 
through the solid rock it is necessary to use 
machine drills, which blacksmiths are con- 
stantly engaged in sharpening. To sink a shaft 
through certain kinds of rock involves a cost as 
high as twenty dollars a foot, without taking into 
consideration the expenditure for machinery, 
hauling and other incidental requirements. 

The average wages of miners in the San Juan 
was three and a-half dollars, until the reduction in 
the monetary value of silver took place. During 
the pioneer days the wages paid the miners was 
much higher. That the miners are a class who 

189 



IX THE SAX JUAN 

are deserving of high wages is evident to any 
one who reflects upon the many dangers and 
hardships to which they are subjected. The 
miner is no time server "amid these mountains 
old and gray." He is a freeman, and perhaps 
enjoys a larger measure of independence than 
most men. By sinking his shaft deeper on his 
prospect, or lengthening the tunnel, he pays his 
yearly taxes to Uncle Sam. 

In the mining camps cabins are constructed of 
logs of spruce or pine, hewed smooth by the keen 
adz to fit closely, then the chinks are filled with 
mountain mortar, which is a protection against 
the intense cold of that region. The old fire- 
places, similar to those which our forefathers 
built on the frontiers half a century ago, may still 
be seen along the streams of the San Juan falling 
into decay. They are sad reminders of a gen- 
eration that is passing away. If married, the 
miner lives with his family in camps, villages 
and cities like Durango, Silverton or Ouray. 
Their homes are neat, and in them are found all 
the comforts of life, comforts sometimes even 
bordering upon luxury. He is a good liver, 
there being nothing small or miserly in him. 
Work and location require that he should eat 
well. The nervous tension at such an altitude 
has such an effect upon body and mind that the 
best food is indispensable to supply the rapid 
waste that is continually going on. In order to 
blast the solid rock it is necessary to drill deep 
holes. This is done by one man striking on the 
drill while the other is turning it. Such work 
demands no small amount of muscular force, 
hence the necessity of good, substantial food. 
Vegetables, such as radishes, onions, lettuce,. 

190 



COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 

beets and carrots, grow at an altitude of 9,000 
feet, while potatoes and cabbage are raised at an 
inferior altitude, or may be bought at reasonable 
prices from the ranchmen in the valleys. 

The miner is nature's student. His special de- 
light is to examine the various rocks and discuss 
the different formations. The geological knowl- 
edge he displays would do credit to some of our 
noted scientists. He is acquainted with modern 
theories concerning the origin of the precious 
metals. And it would seem that the lofty peaks 
by which he is surrounded make him a man of 
broad views and noble ideals, and as the nature 
of his pursuit in life causes him to travel around 
from one mining country to another, he has a prac- 
tical knowledge of geography and an experience 
which make him quite an interesting fellow. He 
is possessed of a sound judgment and a critical 
mind which place him above the average man, 
though he may not understand formal logic; in 
short, he is the embodiment of good nature and 
sociability. 

The Denver & Rio Grande Southern Railroad 
has built from Telluride to Vance Junction a 
branch, which makes connection with the main 
line on the San Miguel River. Canon would be 
a more appropriate name than valley, for this wide 
chasm in the Rockies, as there is little vegetation, 
and the ranches are few and small. Gold in fair 
quantities has been discovered at Saw Pit and 
close to Placerville. Some eastern syndicates put 
up large plants of machinery, but receive small 
returns for the vast sums invested. On either 
side of the canon the red sandstone walls rise to 
great heights. On the right as you go down the 
stream is the San Miguel Plateau, rich in all that 

191 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

makes a great stock country, while on the mesas 
to the left are Gypsum Valley, Paradox Valley, 
Basin Plateau and Island Plateau. A finer coun- 
try could hardly be desired. The land is quite 
level around Wright's Springs, and is irrigated 
without difficulty. The San Miguel waters this 
vast region, which also contains many small 
streams, not yet named on the maps. Here the 
deer and the elk winter and bask in the sunshine, 
while the north wind pierces the traveler on the 
mountains above. Grand Junction, which is on 
the border line of this sparsely settled country, is 
a well-known market of peaches, apples, grapes, 
and other varieties of fruits. Even people out- 
side the state have heard of Grand Junction Peach 
Day, which is a yearly celebration of the wonder- 
ful productiveness of this section of the San Juan. 
There is a vast acreage of wheat, corn and other 
cereals in the Grand Valley, where Grand Junc- 
tion stands. There is not a sufficient rainfall to 
insure regular crops, but the system of irrigation, 
which has been introduced in recent years, is 
complete and effective. Large farms are now 
watered at the proper time and in a few hours. 
The water is supplied from the main ditch, w T hich 
is built on the highest ground and regulated by 
headgates, which can be readily opened or shut. 
A single acre has produced fifty bushels of wheat 
or eighty bushels of oats. Generally, the returns 
compare favorably with those of the best tilled 
lands of the east. 

Coming up the Gunnison River from Grand 
Junction, the first town that greets the traveler is 
Delta. It breaks on the eye bright and cheery 
and drives away all the dreary impressions left 
by the sand hills, jagged rocks and desert land 

192 



COLORADO AMONG THE STATES 

that skirts the river for many miles. At Delta 
this gloomy canon spreads out like a fan to the 
foothills. Here the Uncompaghre and the Gun- 
nison form a junction, and the whole valley is 
well settled. Many of the ranchmen are wealthy, 
and all have comfortable homes. 

In a southeasterly direction, thirty-five miles 
from Montrose, and in the canon of the Uncom- 
paghre, nestles Ouray, the picturesque. The 
Uncompaghre is one of the most beautiful and 
fertile valleys in the San Juan, and so favored by 
nature that Uncle Sam regarded it as a good site 
for a fort. Here Ouray, the chief of theUtes, 
built an adobe house, where he lived in peace 
with his charming Chipeta. The ruins of this 
house still exist, and are pointed out to the trav- 
eler, a memorial of a vanishing race. 

Shall I describe Ouray? No. This task I will 
leave to a poet priest, a dear friend of mine, who, 
during a short sojourn there, was so enraptured 
with the city and its surroundings, that he was 
moved to sing its praise in these exquisite lines: 

There's a spot among the Rockies, 

In Colorado's wilds, 
Where the breezes whisper music 

And the midday sunlight smiles, 
Where the mountains like grim wardens 

Keep watch both night and day 
Where nature's hand has placed them 

The guardians of Ouray. 

Do you journey thro' the canons, 

Twixt high and rocky walls, 
And listen to the murmur 

Of busy waterfalls? 
Are you seeking health or pleasure 

'Mid the mountains old and gray? 
You'll find the yearned-for treasure 

In picturesque Ouray. 
193 



IN THE SAN JUAN 

Do nature's pictures tire 

And the murmuring of the rills, 
Do you long for something hcmelike 

Amid the towering hills? 
Seek ye a place to rest in 

Where gentle calm holds sway 
To soothe the weary spirit? 

You'll find it in Ouray. 



Finis. 



194 









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